Sweet Triumph
by Poofgoesyourface
Summary: Grissom and the miniature killer are caught in a deadly struggle. Who will win? And what happens when the miniature killer chooses 'its' final victim? Will it break the team? Major spoilers for season 7, some GSR, some Sandle...
1. Chapter 1

**So... here's the fic I've been working on... I figured I should post it before they work out the MCSK case... lol... anyways, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue...**

**Spoilers: pretty much everything thats happened in this season... and important stuff from previous seasons...**

**Pairings: I guess you can interpret it as Grillows or Sandle, but I originally wrote it as mild GSR... I don't focus on the Romance in this... that's why it says Action/adventure/angst...**

**Please forgive any typos... I just went through and proofread chapter one, so I'm not sure if I caught everything... **

**Chapter 1**

The crime lab buzzed with activity, just as it did every day before shift. Day shift was excited to be going home, night was full of energy and ready to work and the lab rats went about their own business with varying amounts of enthusiasm. Grissom found he liked this time of day the best. There was no tension, no stress, just a frank feeling of momentary peace. He knew that the moment he handed out assignments, however, that atmosphere would shatter and be replaced by serious focus and purpose.

The rest of his team was lounging in the break room, talking idly and nursing cups of mediocre work coffee that would sustain them through the night. They all looked up as he walked in, the chatter dying out. "Nick, Warrick, you've got a 419 in Henderson, Greg, Sara, you guys have a db on the strip. Cath, you and I are on another 419," he said without preamble, silently resigning himself to another night of work.

"Aw boss, we were relaxing," Nick whined jokingly as he threw away his empty Styrofoam cup.

Grissom smiled thinly at him. "And now you're not."

Nick grinned. "Gee thanks. Coming, Rick?"

Grissom watched his team file out of the room before turning to Catherine, who looked at him expectantly. "Where are we off to?" she asked as they followed the others out.

"Small apartment complex about a block from here," Grissom answered, waving at Archie as they passed.

Archie, however, did not wave back. Instead, he got out of his chair hurriedly and hailed them from his doorway. "Hey Gris'," he called.

Grissom turned around and looked at the A/V tech questioningly. "Yeah?"

"A package came for you; reception asked me to let you know if I saw you. They seemed to think it was odd." Archie explained.

Grissom frowned. "Odd?"

"'Big' would be a better word,"

Grissom hesitated before turning to Catherine. "I ordered some entomology books the other day, but I should probably check it out anyways. I guess I'll meet you there."

She shrugged. "It's all good; your office is on the way anyways."

He thanked Archie and turned into his own office, Catherine trailing along behind patiently. The cardboard box was indeed 'big'. It certainly did not hold three books. Grissom sighed and exchanged a glance with Catherine. "Another miniature?" she guessed as he slit open the tape with a pocketknife.

"I hope not," he answered, but as he dug the Styrofoam out, it was indeed revealed to be a miniature. "God, Catherine, there's three of them."

"What?" She moved to stand next to him.

Nestled snugly inside the cardboard box were three little miniature rooms. He glanced at her quickly before carefully lifting one of them out. The other two also came up, apparently connected to the same bottom panel. Hesitantly, afraid of what he would find inside, he lifted off the roof of all three rooms.

He heard Catherine gasp, and he immediately knew why. "Gil! That's this room!" she exclaimed with revulsion.

Grissom looked down at the little rooms, shocked. The one on the left of the panel was unmistakably his office, complete with all his shelves of books, bugs and keepsakes. Even his desk looked identical to the one he stood before. In the miniature, there was no cardboard box, but the three little miniatures were laid out on his table as if he'd been examining them, and the cases for the other three miniatures were empty and unlocked.

The room on the top right corner was an exact replica of one of the evidence rooms in the building. Grissom thought he could even tell exactly which one it was. On the evidence table sat a box full of what Grissom assumed was evidence, and a manila folder lay beside it while samples littered the table. On the walls were pinned the pictures of the dolls from the different cases, along with pictures from previous crime scenes and pictures from a crime scene he didn't recognize.

In the room on the bottom right was a little doll of a clearly lifeless body. The room looked like a small storage room for cleaning supplies and the door was closed, making the room dismally dark. The little body had its hands tied behind its back, and there was a pool of blood beneath it and blood drops that led out the door. The body appeared to have been posed, and its face was maimed beyond recognition, as if it had been badly burned.

"Gil," Catherine whispered, horrified. "Who is that?"

Grissom stared at the little body, mind racing. "I don't know," he answered.

It was wearing what looked like jeans and a plain t-shirt that were ripped, tattered and blood-soaked, and it was obviously male, but aside from that, there was nothing identifying about it.

"You think it's happened yet?" Catherine inquired in a hushed voice.

Grissom shook his head. "No," he replied. "Look at my office. The miniatures aren't here, and neither is the box. And look at the evidence room. There are pictures from something I don't recognize. Unless it's a case you guys had, then it hasn't happened yet."

She nodded. "I don't recognize them either," she confirmed. "Gris'?"

He looked at her. "Yeah?"

"I get the feeling this is the last one," she replied. "The climax; he was building up to this all along."

Grissom nodded. "Yes, one last chance. It's become a contest of wills: we win, or he wins, and this is the final decision."

**Reviews are most definitely welcome, and they'll most definitely make me update faster... (I've got the whole thing written already)**


	2. Chapter 2

**So here's chappie two... This fic has kind of a slow start, and the first couple chapters are case file, but it'll speed up later... hrm... just a little note w/ this one... this is kinda hrm... out of my comfort zone, i guess you could say. I've always had a problem w/ switching POV during the chapter, but in this one I did... It makes the posts easier and longer... Oh yeah, and a note about the legnth of my chapters... most of them are somewhere around this legnth I think, but it really varies a lot... anyways, enough of me rambling... Enjoy!**

**A big thank you to my reviewers of Chappie one!**

**Chapter 2**

Greg and Sara had just gotten to the little bar on the strip when his phone rang. They could see the body of a woman lying on the concrete in front of the bar, and Greg motioned for Sara to get started as he reached for his phone.

"Sanders," he answered.

"Greg, I've got a different assignment for you," Grissom answered.

Greg sighed and looked over at Sara, who was busy processing the body. "We just got here," he protested mildly.

"Sara can work solo," Grissom replied. "I need you over at an apartment complex near the lab. Nick's going to meet you there."

"Alright, I'll be there. See you later, Gris'."

He hung up and walked over to where Sara was working. "Hey Sara, Grissom put me on another case. You gonna be alright here?"

She nodded. "See you after shift then,"

The apartment complex was somewhere between decent and run down, and Greg smiled wryly to himself, silently comparing it to his own apartment. The tenants were all gathered outside, muttering amongst themselves and shooting bitter looks at the police who stood about taking notes. Nick pulled up almost at the same time as he did, and Brass, who'd been sitting on the bumper of a cruiser with his arms crossed, marched up to them angrily. "You're late," he said, eyes flashing dangerously. "David's been waiting."

Greg and Nick exchanged a glance. "We just got the call," Greg answered indignantly.

"Grissom?" Brass questioned.

"Yeah,"

"I'm going to have a word with that guy," Brass grumbled sourly. "So, we've got a db in apartment—"

He was cut off by Greg's phone, and Greg looked at Brass apologetically. "Probably Grissom," he said, walking a little ways apart to answer.

He flipped it open without checking the caller ID, mildly irritated. "Hey Gris', Brass isn't happy with you. What do you want?"

He was answered with silence. "Gris?" He tried. The line clicked, and Greg looked at his phone, perplexed. The number was one he didn't recognize. He briefly considered writing it down, but dismissed that idea and walked back to where Brass and Nick were waiting for him.

"What does he want?" Brass asked.

Greg shook his head. "There was no one there," he replied.

Brass raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Apartment 207. The husband came home and found her dead on the kitchen floor."

"And?" Nick inquired.

"I don't buy one word of it. The guy was practically shaking, and his eyes were all over the place." Brass replied. "I get the feeling this one will clean up pretty easily."

Brass led them up the stairs of the apartment complex, and they passed a lady pushing a cart full of cleaning supplies. "Hey!" Brass barked at her. "You can't be up here; this is an active crime scene."

She nodded. "Sorry, I was just on my way out." She glanced at Nick and Greg curiously before hurrying away.

"Idiotic people," Brass muttered. He waved down an officer. "Can you escort her out?" He asked, motioning towards the cleaning lady behind them.

The officer nodded and caught up with her. Greg glanced at Nick and raised his eyebrows. "What's got you in such a temper tonight?" Nick inquired of Brass.

Brass scowled. "I tried calling Ellie today."

"Oh."

"She told me to fuck off," Brass continued. "Such a loving daughter. I thought we were doing good for a while, but _no_, I'm apparently 'ruining her life'."

"She told you that?" Nick asked incredulously.

Brass nodded.

"Remind me never to have kids," Nick said.

Brass snorted. "Kids are alright. Ellie was adorable when she was three. It's when they grow up that they don't give a shit about you and think you're out to make their life miserable."

"Ah,"

"Here we are," Brass motioned to the room. "I'm going back out to talk to the tenants."

David was waiting inside with a sour look on his normally eager face. "Oh, here you are," he said with a touch of bitterness. "Your vic is Lora Thomson. TOD is about five hours ago, hurry up on her so I can take her back to the morgue."

Greg looked down at the lady laying face down on the tile floor. There was a pool of blood on the floor beneath her and what looked like a broken blood-smeared glass bottle on the floor beside her. Lora Thomson appeared to be in her late forties, but already had graying hairs and was wearing neat work clothes that were bloodied from her wound.

"I'll work on the body," Greg offered.

Nick nodded. "Okay, I'll start on the rest of the kitchen."

Greg scraped her fingernails and snapped pictures before standing back for David to remove the body. Once David had gone, Greg printed the bottle and swabbed the blood on it before bagging it.

"So what do you think?" Nick asked from the far corner of the kitchen. "The husband? Or someone else?"

Greg shrugged. "It looks like she was killed with this wine bottle. Hopefully we can get some prints off of it."

Nick looked away from his camera for a moment. "If I had a dollar for every time someone was killed with a wine bottle, I'd be rich."

Greg grinned. "I guess they make good defense weapons."

"So what? The lady was attacking someone?"

"In her own house? An intruder, possibly?"

Nick shook his head. "No, there was no sign of forced entry."

"Okay, so maybe the husband invaded her personal bubble." Greg guessed, examining the phone.

"Or whoever it was had keys."

"So who has keys to this place aside from the husband?"

Nick looked up with a strange expression. "Cleaning ladies."

Greg turned to look at him. "The one who passed us on our way up?"

Nick shrugged. "They're everywhere. Nobody notices the cleaners."

Greg snorted. "Yeah, because they do all the work that we don't want to do."

"And when they get tired of it, they attack tenants?" Nick looked skeptical.

Greg laughed. "I think I'll fire the one who cleans my apartment. That's just a little creepy."

Nick grinned. "Are you saying that you actually have a clean apartment?"

Greg grinned and turned back to the phone he'd been printing. "Thanks to the maid, yes."

Nick paused before answering. "So if it turns out that the cleaning lady _did_ kill Lora Thomson, will you start doing your own housekeeping?"

Greg turned back to him, grinning. "That or find a girlfriend who's tidy enough to clean up after me."

Nick laughed. "That's another alternative. Should we ask Brass to interview the maid?"

Greg nodded. "I'll call him."

He dialed Brass' cell and waited for a moment before Brass answered. "What's up, Greg? How's it going?"

"Pretty good," Greg replied. "Hey, can you interview the cleaning lady and get prints and DNA?"

Brass was silent for a moment. "Sure, I'll do that now."

"Thanks,"

The rest of the night passed quickly; Brass' assessment of the case was proving to be correct. He and Nick had plenty of evidence, and it was only a matter of processing it in the lab. They drove back to the lab around four in the morning, and Nick headed to the morgue while Greg made his way to Hodges' lab to drop off the evidence they'd collected.

As he walked, he passed an evidence room where Catherine and Grissom were studying something intently. Curiosity nagged at his mind, and he knocked on the door frame and stuck his head in. The two supervisors whirled around and moved together to shield something. Grissom gave him an irritated look. "Yes, Greg?"

Greg looked at him quizzically. "Just thought I'd drop in and say hi,"

Grissom looked slightly embarrassed. "How did the case go?"

"We just got back from the scene," Greg answered, giving his supervisors a questioning look. "Nick's at the morgue; I was going to drop my evidence off with Hodges. Didn't you guys have a 419?"

He noticed Catherine look at Grissom questioningly as he answered. "Yeah, we're working on it."

Greg raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. "Okay, well, I'm going to go drop my stuff off with Hodges now. I'll see you guys later."

He walked away, shaking his head. Grissom and Catherine had been known to keep secrets before, and Greg wasn't really interested in what they had to hide, but they didn't have to be so sneaky about it. They could have just told him it was confidential and he would have left it alone. But no, now they'd sparked his interest. Sighing, he made his way down the hall to Hodges, waving at Mia as he passed.

**A Couple Hours Earlier**

"Gil?" Catherine tried.

Grissom looked up at her. "Yeah?"

"We're supposed to be at that 419, shouldn't we call someone in for us?"

Grissom blinked. "Oh, I forgot about that. Here, I'll call Nick and Greg."

Catherine leaned in to examine the little crime scene while Grissom was on the phone. They'd moved into an evidence room, and with a shiver, Catherine realized it was the same one in the miniature. She looked around. At the moment, the walls were blank, and all that lay on the table was the miniature she was looking at. She picked up tweezers from the table and reached into the miniature to take out the evidence box. It was glued to the table, but the lid came off easily. The little box was empty, and she looked at the rest of the table and understood. Assuming the people working the case were night shift, they'd taken out the evidence and were processing it. She paused, puzzled.

This one was so different. The killer had never left three miniatures for them, and not only that, but the miniature didn't make sense. The miniature suggested that they had not yet found the body, but yet they did have evidence and pictures. It occurred to her that the evidence in the miniature table could be from the previous cases, but that did not make sense either, for this case bore no similarities to the others. Unless it was a different case they hadn't worked yet, then the evidence on the table was completely random.

Hoping the manila folder would give her a clue, she reached into the miniature for the little folder. It was also glued to the table, but the top flipped open to reveal a picture of a little bloody doll on the inside cover. Catherine hissed and looked away. The little pictures creeped her out for some reason, and she quietly steeled herself to look back.

This time, the doll was depicted from an aerial view, and its face was turned upwards as if in agony, but its expression was serene. Its face was mutilated, much like that of the little body, and its eyes were wide and staring. Catherine shuddered.

"You okay?"

She started and looked back at Grissom, who'd come back to stand next to her. She hadn't heard him hang up, and she nodded slowly. "I found the doll," she informed him, moving aside so that he could look at the little folder.

"So you have," he answered, examining the little face. "Have you found the bleach yet?"

She shook her head. "It's probably in the little storage room where the body is."

Grissom nodded and moved the scope into the little room. "Found it," he announced, taking out the little bottle with his tweezers. "It looks like it's been spilt." He pointed to a little blue puddle near the body.

"Maybe that's how our vic will die," Catherine suggested. "Suffocation on bleach fumes?"

Grissom was looking in his mini office. "I wonder what day this is set on," he mumbled, picking up a little calendar. "This calendar is marked April 17, 2007."

They looked at each other. "We have a month," Catherine said. "What do we do? Do we tell the rest of the team?"

Grissom didn't answer right away. "Cath," he said finally. "This miniature suggests that the killer is someone who works here: someone who is familiar with the lab and who has easy access to it. I think we should keep this between us. Not because I suspect someone of our team, but to protect them. If the killer suspects that we're getting close to discovering him, then he might do something to one of us. He's sending us a message with this miniature. We aren't safe anywhere, not even here: a building swarming with police and law enforcement officers."

Catherine nodded slowly. She was frightened. Work was always a safe place for her, someplace she could go if she needed reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Now, that security was taken away. "Is there any way we could figure out who that is?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

"In the Izzy Delancy model, the blood was real. Maybe this is also real blood?" Grissom suggested.

Catherine reached for a swab, but Grissom caught her arm. "Wait," he said. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She looked up at him, confused. "Of course,"

"The best thing for us to do right now is keep this a secret. If we tell anyone, we could be putting them in danger. What if that body is one of our team? How will we react?"

A chill went down her spine. Grissom was right. If they told anyone about the model, they could put people in danger. Catherine had no idea how she would act if the body turned out to be someone on their team. The logical thing to do would be to tell the person of course, but then that would put that person in danger also. With the past miniatures, the killer had always had a set plan, and if they messed up that plan, there was no knowing what would happen. The killer might feel cornered and do something unexpected. With the miniature, they essentially knew the killer's plans, and they could do nothing but let them unfold. She put down the swab, and leaned against the table. "Grissom?" she asked. "What do we do? We've got a bit of a dilemma."

Grissom nodded. "If we try and stop him, he might do something worse, but if we don't try to stop him, he'll continue with his plan, which will eventually end in the death of someone."

"So what's the better decision?"

Grissom paused. "I think we should try and figure out what his plan is first. We have a month."

"What if his plan is already in action?" Catherine asked.

Grissom sighed. "I don't know. I want to warn this victim, but if we do, I'm afraid of what the repercussions will be. I think we should wait until we know what his plans are before we act. If it's necessary, we can take drastic measures."

"What if we find out who it is but don't tell them?" Catherine suggested. "We could take steps to protect them without them knowing."

"Let's wait for just a little while. At least figure out a little about the scene." Grissom insisted.

Catherine looked at the little figure and shivered. "Okay," she said finally. "Where do we start?"

"My office,"

**Yup, sorry if the dialogue sounds a little tacky... I'm trying to set the scene for the rest of the fic... Thoughts? Criticisms? Suggestions? Reviews are much valued... hahah... sounds like one of those survey things you get after going to those organization sponsored events...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, I'm really really really sorry for the long time since my last chapter... I promise I'll update faster, I've just been really busy, my AP history class has been taking over my life... so... Here goes chappie three... I apologize for the slow start... it'll speed up in... one or two more chapters... :) anyways, enjoy! And hugs to all my reviewers! **

**Chapter 3**

Hodges was being difficult. "No, you cannot use my lab. I'll process your evidence as soon as I'm done here, now get out."

Greg was on the verge of yelling at the man. "Hodges! Come on, its just a couple swabs and fingerprints! I can do it myself."

"I was just about to leave on break," Hodges declared, smiling dryly at him.

"So can I use your lab then?"

"No, you can't."

Greg glared at him and dumped his evidence on a table angrily. "Okay then, hurry up."

His phone rang as he stepped out of the lab and he answered, seeing it was Nick. "Hello,"

"Hey Greg, COD was blunt force trauma. She died immediately after she was hit with the wine bottle. Brass called me and briefed me on the notes he got from the interviewing. Apparently Thomson was not a very nice person. She 'acted like she owned the place and treated everyone else like servants'." Nick answered. "Did you get anything from the prints?"

Greg sighed and looked back through the glass into Hodges' lab. "Hodges was being annoying. He's about to go on break, so I'm going to hijack his lab for a little while. It shouldn't take too long."

"Alright, I'll meet you there. I'm on my way over now." Nick answered.

Greg looked up when he heard Hodges leaving. "Okay, cool. I gotta go, Hodges is on break."

He hung up and slipped into the lab that everyone once called 'Greg's lab'. He liked working in the field, but here was where he felt comfortable and he got to work immediately, wishing his boom box was there. "Hey Greg,"

He looked up and grinned at Mia who looked at him, amused. "Hodges let you use his lab?"

Greg shook his head, grinning. "No, but he's on break. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

She moved in to stand beside him. "You want me to run some stuff for you? I'm free right now. That is until Warrick gets here with the trace he wanted me to—" she broke off, looking out the door. "Never mind, he's here. See you later, Greg."

Greg waved goodbye and watched AFIS run, humming to himself. The screen flashed to indicate it had found a match and Greg leaned in. The picture was of a brown haired lady with dull, black eyes. He immediately recognized her as the lady they'd passed in the hall of the apartment complex. Excited, he dialed Nick's number and waited.

"Hey Nicky!" He exclaimed when the Texan picked up.

"Got a match?" The man guessed.

Greg grinned. "Yup, it's that maid we passed in the hall. Her name's Paula Reed. She was arrested two years ago for drunk driving."

"I'll call Brass." Nick answered. "I think he's still at the scene. I'll ask him to bring her along, meet you at the interrogation?"

"Sure thing," Greg answered, cleaning up after himself and taking the DNA report that just printed. "Hey wait a minute, Nick. There was also DNA of hers on the bloody shards of that wine bottle. Maybe she cut herself on accident."

"We'll ask her at the interview. See you in a bit."

Greg got up, grinning to himself. Maybe he would actually get to go home after shift today. Just as he was leaving, his phone rang again, and he glanced at the caller ID before answering. It was the same unknown number as before. Unsure, he answered it. "Sanders,"

"Sorry, wrong number," said a female voice before hanging up.

Greg hung up and hurried around the corner to the interview. Brass and Nick were both waiting outside when he arrived. "Hey guys," he greeted them. Through the glass window, he could see the brown haired Paula Reed sitting at the table looking almost bored.

Brass motioned towards the room. "Shall we?"

She looked up as they walked in, and Greg surveyed her curiously. She was well kept and clean, but her eyes were dark and haunted. There was an unmistakable air of guiltiness about her.

"Mrs. Reed?" Greg inquired when it was apparent that neither Brass nor Nick was going to say anything.

She nodded. "Yeah,"

"Did you know Lora Thomson?" He asked, as Nick pushed a picture of the lady across the table towards her.

She sneered. "Who didn't? We were all dirt to her," she said. "Even the other tenants."

"Don't most people treat you like that, though?" Greg asked. "What made her different?" He noticed Nick glancing at him questioningly, but Greg did not look over at his friend.

Paula's expression turned from one of dislike to one of hate. "I don't see why that's a relevant question, Mr…"

"Sanders," Greg supplied.

The woman looked at him closely, eyes squinted. "I didn't like her, along with everyone else who lived there."

"Did you know that she's dead?"

Her expression of hate intensified. "No," she said sarcastically. "I just stood outside answering stupid questions because I had nothing else to do."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "You seem very bitter," he observed.

"Am I supposed to be anything else? I just waited outside in the cold for hours just for nothing," she shot back.

"Ms. Reed, we found your prints on the wine bottle that killed her. We also found your blood on the bottle. Could you hold your hands out please?" Greg asked.

She gave him a rebellious look. "Do you have a warrant?"

Greg sighed exasperatedly and looked over at Nick and Brass pleadingly. Brass stood up. "Ms. Reed, right now, we can charge you for murder. Would you also like us to charge you for holding information?"

She glared at both of them. "Do you just want me to confess? I'm going to jail anyways."

Greg didn't know what to do, but he was spared the task of answering as Brass spoke. "Yes, that would be wonderful," he said icily.

The lady looked at the three of them and suddenly smiled wryly. "Thomson was a pain in everyone's ass, except for her husband's. I wouldn't doubt it if everyone in the building is glad that she's dead. We're supposed to clean when the tenants are away, and I was late, so I figured I'd get started on her room anyways. She came home while I was still there, though, and started yelling at me. I thought I'd do everyone a favor, so I bashed her head in, cleaned myself up and left. Her husband came home, though, before I could get rid of the body. I was just going to get more bleach when you guys showed up."

Greg suddenly felt very cold. "So that's it? No remorse? No horrible realization that you took someone's life? No regrets about going to jail?" For some reason, her calm demeanor sent a chill down his spine.

She smiled at him mockingly. "Why should I regret going to jail? No more cleaning, free food, no more idiots like Lora Thomson."

Greg stared at her incredulously. "So you can just kill someone? Just like that?" he was about to say something more, but Nick put a hand on his arm.

"You can't?" She held his gaze, still smiling infuriatingly.

Brass saved him from responding. "Paula Reed, you're under arrest for the murder of Lora Thomson."

She didn't look up as the officer hand cuffed her, but continued staring at Greg. "It's been nice talking with you. Goodbye Mr. Sanders."

Greg was about to answer her, but Nick steered him firmly out the door. Once in the hall, Greg cursed furiously. "People like that annoy the hell out of me," he said angrily. "How can they kill people and just… just… walk away?! _I _certainly didn't!"

Nick put a hand on his shoulder and turned him away from the room. "Hey, keep it cool, man. She's going to jail for a very long time."

Greg breathed out heavily. "Good," he responded, voice dripping acid. "I'm going home, shift's over."

* * *

Catherine stared at the little crime scene before them. "Gil?" she questioned. They hadn't said anything for a very long time, both consumed with their own task. He was examining the miniature office, and she was peering intently into the little evidence room. 

"Yeah?"

"This one is very different."

He looked up at her. "How so?" he asked before going back to his work.

"Well, for one, there are three crime scenes, obviously. Also, he based this model off of our work patterns, but he doesn't know for sure what everything is going to end up being."

Grissom looked at her closer. "Go on,"

"Well, he's basing everything off of assumptions."

"Doesn't he always?" Grissom asked.

"Yes, but this time it's different." She insisted. "In the last model, he knew the lady's patterns, but she didn't know anything about what he was going to do. This time, he knows that we know what he wants to do. So this time, he's counting on us to try and interfere with his plans. Maybe this model is fake. Maybe it isn't what he really has planned." She explained.

Grissom nodded slowly. "I see what you mean, but I don't think that's exactly right. He's telling us what he intends to do, but at the same time, he's threatening to do something else. If we try and interfere, we won't have guidelines to follow any more. If we don't try to interfere, we will have guidelines, but he seems confident that his plans will succeed. It seems to me that _our_ best way to counter this is to wait until the very end of his plans and thwart them there. If we try and stop it early on, he will have enough time to think up a way around our efforts."

She nodded. "That makes sense, but why three rooms?"

"Look at the storage room. There's nothing that would help us solve it in there. He's giving us more information. He's getting cheeky."

Catherine nodded. "Maybe it's something like the last one, maybe he's going to kill his victim in a way we can't stop."

Grissom looked at the little figure. "I don't think so, look at this figure. There's no way anyone could do that without killing them himself."

Catherine sighed. Grissom was right again. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "So the storage room is here for obvious reasons. The evidence room suggests that our whole team will be involved in solving this one, and that's where all the evidence is. What is the purpose of putting your office here?"

Grissom looked back down at the model. "Well, possibly to send me a message, invoke fear. But…" he paused and leaned in. "Also to give us a map."

"A map?"

He nodded and pointed the scope into the tiny model on the miniature desk. Catherine looked at the TV screen. The little model in the miniature only had select items in it. In the tiny office was another little square on the desk which was obviously the miniature. In the evidence room was the little box of evidence and the manila folder, and in the tiny little storage room was the outline of a body and a tiny little bottle which Catherine supposed was supposed to be the bleach bottle. "Why only an outline?" she wondered out loud.

"What?"

"In the miniature model, there's only an outline of a body, there's no little doll to symbolize a body. Why?" she explained.

Grissom looked closer. "I don't know, maybe it was too hard to make?"

"I doubt that," Catherine said. "I think it's supposed to mean something. If he can make tiny little manila folders, then he can make a tiny body to go in a tiny miniature."

"The bottle of bleach is still there," Grissom said, pointing. "And the manila folder that you found the doll in."

She nodded. "Yeah, he's just showing us what we already know."

Grissom shook his head. "No," he said. "If he can get close enough to us to make a perfect half-inch model of my office, he knows how good we are, and he knows we've already discovered the connection of bleach in the miniatures."

"So what is he trying to tell us? The victim is going to die by bleach poisoning?" Catherine speculated.

"Possibly, but that doesn't make sense either because we already know that from the half-inch model." Grissom replied.

Catherine sighed. "Then there's no point in putting your office here, or the mini-miniature."

Grissom didn't answer right away. "Everything has a reason, Cath. I think he put it there just to catch our attention, tell us that we have a reason to fear him."

"So what's the purpose of the little miniature?"

He shrugged. "He's taunting us. Telling us he knows what we know. It also might just be there to impose some sort of… mental restrictions on us."

"What?"

"If we think that he put it there just to give us a map of what's important, then we won't look for anything else in the model, just what he thinks is important. He's playing games with us."

Catherine smiled bitterly. "He's been doing that for months."

"Our best bet right now is to try and take apart his puzzle to whatever extent gives us sufficient information," Grissom said, not taking his eyes off the ½ inch model before them.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Catherine shrugged. "I still think we should find out who the victim is, though."

He looked at her searchingly. "We don't want anything to compromise our investigation, Cath."

"It won't compromise it, Gil. We need to know, just in case." She answered. She could tell that Grissom was being swayed.

Grissom gave her a long look. "Cath, I want to know too, but I'm afraid of what we'll find."

She looked at him, incredulous. Gilbert Grissom? Laying bare his own feelings? "Gil, think how you'd feel if it happens early and we didn't do anything to stop it because we didn't know who it was."

Grissom sighed. "You're right, but let's wait just a little bit more. We need to think this out."

They were silent for a long time in which they both stood, lost in their own thoughts. "How are we going to do this, Gil?" Catherine finally asked.

Grissom looked at her. "Well, we don't want to tell anyone else about this, and the others are going to expect us to work on other cases. I think we should devote maybe a week to it and then once we've gotten everything we can from it, we should work with the others."

"And just let it happen?"

"We don't know yet," Grissom answered. "We don't know what the killer has planned. Let's unravel his plans first and then act upon them if necessary."

**Yup... Reviews are appreciated, coveted and revered :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**An update for you. Reviewers: You get a gold star. Wish me luck on my history homework tomorow... er... today...? 12:25 AM... maybe that explains things a little. **

**Chapter 4**

Greg walked slowly back through the lab. His interview with the cleaning woman brought back horrible memories of the night when he'd been responsible for the death of another man. Sure, they'd let him off, but that didn't leave him guiltless. Without the question of reasonable force or self defense, it remained that he killed a college kid. There was blood on his hands now, blood that refused to be washed away. In an effort to prove to himself and the world that he felt remorse, he'd done as much as he could for Demetrius James' brother. But what was money? What kind of exchange was money for a life? What was he proving to the world? That he was rich? No. It was much the opposite, really, but who knew that? To the Demetrius James family, he was just another rich white boy. He hadn't heard from the family, but didn't expect thanks or gratitude. Probably, they saw his efforts as charity: a way to buy back his reputation, a way to appease their family. His mind was guilt ridden and that night haunted his dreams, his waking moments and his thoughts. _This is the way a true person should feel_. He thought. _I deserve this_.

And then along comes a killer. One who kills in cold blood and relishes the thought afterwards. She didn't even try to hide her deed. She wanted to tell the world what she did, show them that she felt nothing, only satisfaction. Even the consequences of her actions failed to faze her. She welcomed jail. She saw it as a reward, a bonus she gets from the community for ridding the world of a person who 'everyone hated'.

The law was a way to force the community to conform to a predestined set of morals. Morals were something personal each person was responsible for following themselves. People without enough sense to know killing is bad need the law to remind them what it feels like to be hurt because of someone else's lax morals. It was because of this that morals were something the country was in great need of. Are they really morals when they're based on consequences instead of inner feelings?

"Greg!"

Greg shook himself out of his reverie of confused thought and turned around to see Grissom halfway down the hall waving at him. "Hey," he said, trying to keep his preoccupation out of his voice.

"I was calling you," Grissom said, searching him with curious eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you,"

"Can you run something in trace for me?" Grissom asked, eyes still probing.

"Sure," Greg replied. "We just wrapped up our case,"

"How'd it go?"

"Fine," Greg answered, taking the swab that Grissom handed him.

"Are you alright?" Grissom asked suddenly.

Greg slapped himself around mentally. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll run this for you and then I'm going to head home."

Grissom suddenly frowned. "Just start it and head home, I'll pick it up in a little while. You look like you need rest."

Greg nodded. "Okay, I'll see you later then,"

He headed down the hallway, yawning. Now that Grissom mentioned it, he did feel very tired. Although it had been a relatively easy shift, he felt emotionally drained. To his relief, Hodges had left already, so Greg let himself into the lab with his old key. Grumbling, he realized that Hodges' absence meant Greg had to stay and wait for the trace to finish running.

After starting it, he yawned again and made his way to the break room figuring a cup of coffee might sustain him until he got home. Nick was sitting at the table writing something and he looked up when Greg entered. "Hey Greggo, I thought I told you to go home?"

Greg smiled wryly. "Grissom asked me to run something for him and Hodges left already."

"And Mia or one of the others couldn't do it?"

Greg sighed, pouring himself coffee. "You know Grissom: his mind works in strange ways."

Nick laughed.

Greg grinned at him. "Whatcha working on?"

Nick put down his pen. "Just finishing up the paperwork for that case,"

"You want me to stay and help?"

"Nah, I've got it covered. I'm almost done anyways,"

Greg nodded gratefully and glanced at his watch. "My trace is probably done. See you tomorrow,"

When he got back to the lab, he saw that Catherine had beaten him there and was already locking up the door. She jumped when he called her name and looked at him as if he was a ghost. "You okay, Cath?"

She nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Sorry, I'll see you later."

Greg looked at her closely and glanced at the folded paper in her hands. "You got everything you guys need?"

"Yeah," she answered. "Thanks, Greg."

He nodded. "No problem, see you tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

**Kinda short chapter this time, sorry guys... the next one will be longer though, and a whole lot eviller... er... more evil... Big hugs to all my reviewers!**

**Chapter 5**

Grissom looked up when Catherine came back in. She was pale, and she handed him the results wordlessly. He looked at her closely. "You okay, Cath?"

She blinked and regained her composure. "I'm fine," she motioned towards the folded paper in his hands. "It's horrible, Gil."

He looked down at the paper in his hands. He wasn't sure he wanted to open it, didn't know if he wanted to see who was destined for this fate. It had occurred to him that it might be himself, but he'd forced himself to not think about that possibility. The killer seemed to want to taunt him, and he'd convinced himself that he would not be on the killer's list of victims. The past four models had been meant to challenge him, force him to realize his weaknesses. Grissom wanted very much to catch this man who'd eluded him four times. There was something more personal to these murders, and Grissom felt that if he failed to catch this killer, it would be a personal statement. He would be marked as a failure; the killer would be triumphant, and triumph was dangerous in the hands of one who kills for pleasure.

He glanced up at Catherine, who was leaning against the table, looking horrified. He would have to open it sometime, and she was looking at him expectantly. Slowly, he unfolded the paper, and a feeling of ice clamped about his heart.

"Why him, Gil?" Catherine asked, her voice quiet, full of emotion.

Grissom read it again, and again. The results were clear, but his mind was not. It was screaming at him to do something. He looked up at Catherine and closed his eyes. "Why him?" He repeated her words.

As if hoping that the words would have changed themselves in the last five seconds, he looked back down at the paper and read it again. There they were, clear as day in cold, black ink: Greg Sanders.


	6. Chapter 6

**So... I've got some things to say about this chappie...**

**Yeah, I know. What happened to Sara? Well... I think, and now I know, that she's going to be the last victim, but when I wrote this fic, I was in the mood for a Greggo centered fic, so thats how it turned out... I make a small effort to explain why Sara wasn't the victim later in the story...**

**Anyways, this is the chapter where it gets exciting. I'm sorry if my last chapter disappointed anyone... I hope the rest of my fic won't... Anyways, I'll stop rambling... (Oh yeah... I actually started writing this before Grissom started making a model of his office... I find that kinda ironic...) Oh yeah, and if you've got anything to say about my fic, by all means, say it... I don't mind reading criticism, in fact, I like it because it helps me improve... and everyone loves getting reviews :) okay... I really will stop rambling now... enjoy!**

**Chapter 6**

The sun had fully risen by the time Greg got home and he yawned widely on the way up the stairs. He was exhausted even though it had been an easy shift. The apartment complex was far from the welcoming home that he knew his co-workers returned to, but it was home and it was comforting to return after a long shift. His neighbors were getting ready to go to their work and he waved at the manager as she passed. One of the things he liked about living in an apartment complex was that everyone was familiar with each other and there was security to some extent. His apartment complex wasn't the best in town, but it was better than that of the case he'd just finished.

He fumbled in his pockets for his keys and opened the door to his unit, eager to get some sleep. On the mat was a pile of mail that he looked at with distaste as he picked it up. Finding bills galore was not his ideal perception of a before-bedtime activity, so he tossed the mail on his counter and listened to his phone messages.

He let the messages run and went about getting ready for a shower when his cell phone rang again. Grumbling, he made his way back to the kitchen and answered it, seeing that the number was marked as restricted. "Sanders," he answered.

Nobody replied, and as he hung up, his eyes fell on his pile of mail. Hidden between the advertisements and the bills was a thick yellow envelope. Curious, he picked it up and flipped it over. There was no return address. A little hesitantly, he slit it open.

Several Polaroid pictures fell out along with a USB. A shiver went down his spine as he flipped the pictures over, his eyes widening with shocked fear. They were all pictures of him. One was of him standing in the very spot he was then, listening to his messages. Another showed him on his cell phone and another was of him in the kitchen making coffee. Yet another was of him sitting in the car. The last, however, was the most disturbing. It was taken from directly in front of him, and he was sitting at his lap top in his bedroom. It was completely unexpected, but it immediately sparked fear. Unbidden memories of Nick's stalker case sprang to mind.

Greg tried to organize his thoughts but his mind was racing and his heart was pounding painfully. He turned around slowly, almost expecting to see someone standing in his hallway. There was no one there, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching him. Fearfully, he reached for his phone, but before he could dial, it rang again and he almost dropped it. The number was restricted.

Shaking, he pocketed it, gathered up the contents of the envelope and, sparing one last glance for his hallway, hurried out of the apartment. Once outside, he locked the door and leaned against the wall, trying to bring himself back to the present. At the moment, his thoughts could do nothing but replay the memories of the Nigel Crane case.

"Sanders?"

He jumped and turned to see his manager. "Are you alright, Mr. Sanders?" she asked, her slightly harsh features contorted with a strange expression of concern.

He breathed in deeply and nodded. "I'm fine," he replied, but his voice was shaking.

She gave him a strange look and continued down the hallway. Greg watched her go and tried desperately to calm himself. His phone was still ringing. Taking the steps down two at a time, he debated whether or not to answer it. Once in the safety of his car, he pulled it out and stared at it, mind nervous with indecision.

Cursing, he tossed it on the passenger seat. His eyes fell on the top picture in his hand and he twisted around in his seat to reassure himself that there was no one else in the car with him. Now, more than ever, he wished he carried a gun with him. Somebody knocked on his car window, and he started, sending the pictures flying.

He rolled down his window, recognizing the face of his next-door neighbor. "Hey Greg," the lady greeted him. "You okay?"

Greg almost sighed with relief. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just about to go shopping, I guess I fell asleep."

The lady looked at him oddly. "Your phone is ringing."

Greg forced a laugh. "It's my boss, I'm delaying answering it. I don't really feel like going in again."

She nodded. "You sure you're alright? I didn't mean to startle you,"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He insisted.

She looked at him a moment longer and started to walk away, but Greg called out to her. "Wait!" She turned around and looked at him questioningly. "Did you uh… have you seen anyone go into my apartment lately?"

His neighbor shook her head, perplexed. "No, I haven't. Was there an intruder?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

"Oh no, no, nothing like that. I just… my friend was supposed to come by and I forgot to give him my key." Greg answered lamely.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You shouldn't give copies of your keys out, you know. Being a CSI, you should know that."

Greg laughed nervously. "Yeah, I guess I should call him. Thanks."

"No problem," she replied, looking at him shrewdly. "You need anything, you stop by, alright Greg?"

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks. See you later."

She waved goodbye, and Greg sighed in relief as she left. The phone had stopped ringing, but as he started the car, it began again, and this time, the number came up as Catherine's cell. "Hey Cath," he answered, somewhat comforted. Had she been calling on another phone?

"Heya Greggo," she replied. "Did you try calling me?"

"What?" he asked, his heart rate spiking again.

"On your home phone. I picked up, but you didn't say anything."

Greg looked out the car window at his apartment on the top floor, fear seeping into his mind. Someone had been in the house with him. "Look, Cath. I've… I've got a bit of a problem."

He began gathering up the pictures again, and looked at them one by one, each sending a shiver down his spine. Something on the back of one caught his eye, and he flipped it over. Catherine was saying something, but he wasn't listening.

_Greg Sanders_,

_Have I got your attention? You will not breathe a word of this to anyone. If so, I will finish it now. I guarantee you I know exactly where you and your co-workers are at this very moment. If you need proof, I'd be happy to give it. Perhaps if you stay quiet, others need not get hurt. Consider this our little secret. My best wishes to you. _

_P.S The USB will prove to be interesting._

Greg let the picture drop from his fingers, and he leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, trying to calm himself. "Greg!"

With great effort, he brought his attention back to his phone conversation. "Sorry," he said, voice cracking slightly.

"What's wrong?"

He looked back up at his apartment and saw the curtains sway. Suddenly, he felt the need for movement. He couldn't be here. He wasn't safe here. He started the car and once again he almost forgot that Catherine was on the phone with him. "Sorry," he said again. "I'm fine," he replied.

"Greg? You said you had a problem?"

"Don't worry about it, I've got it figured out," he answered, but his voice shook.

Catherine was silent for a moment. "Where are you?" She asked.

Greg forced his voice to obey him. "I'm at home," he lied. "Yeah, I called you."

There was another pause. "Greg, I can hear your car. What's going on?"

He glanced at the picture again as he pulled out of the parking lot. "I… nothing, I've got it all figured out," he repeated.

"Greg," her voice was worried. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't," he lied again. "I'm just pulling in."

"No you aren't, what are you hiding, Greg?" Catherine asked insistently.

"I'm not hiding anything!" He protested, suddenly angry. He wanted more than anything to tell Catherine, but the note's promising threats sufficiently wove a web of fear around him. He was trapped.

She was silent for a long time. Greg almost thought she'd hung up on him. "Okay," she replied finally. "Greg, if anything happens, call me, okay?"

"Anything happens?" he questioned, confused and afraid.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she responded.

Greg was about to press her for information, but she'd hung up already, and he pulled over to the side of the road, mind racing again. Did she know he was in danger? Would that put her in danger? He closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep, but he was parked on the side of a road and the memory of the pictures chased away any sleepiness.

He started to pull out into traffic again, but his phone rang loudly again. He stopped the car and looked at the caller ID. It was restricted.

With reckless anger, he flipped it open. "Who are you!? Talk to me!"

He listened, heart pounding, as a voice read off GPS coordinates. Horrified, he looked down at the GPS on his car. The coordinates matched exactly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Grissom waited for her to hang up, worried. "Is he alright?"

Her expression spoke volumes. "Gil, I think something's happened."

A million possibilities sprang to mind and none of them good. "What did he say?" He asked.

Catherine ran a hand through her hair agitatedly. "He wouldn't tell me anything, Gil. It's not like him to just call and hang up, and when I asked him if he called, he sounded… I don't know. Gil, He sounded terrified. I think we should go check on him."

Grissom was thinking. It didn't sound good. If Greg was in danger, he shouldn't be at his house. The lab wasn't safe either, but it was better than out where anything could happen and they wouldn't know. "Are there any cases day shift needs help on?" he asked finally.

"What?" Catherine looked at him, surprised.

"We want to keep this away from him, and the rest of the team. If he knows about this, I have no idea what he'll do. He's been kind of fragile after the Demetrius James fiasco. If we call him into the lab, we'll keep him out of danger and he'll be under our supervision." Grissom told her.

She looked at him as if he was a genius, but her expression fell after a moment. "What about after? He's going to have to go home sometime."

Grissom hadn't hit that snag yet. "Well, let's do this and then figure that out later." Grissom replied after a moment of hesitation.

Catherine nodded, looking troubled.

"I'll go ask if there's anything he can do here," Grissom offered, leaving once Catherine had nodded.

He paused at reception. He didn't really feel like talking to Ecklie at the moment, so he decided to ask first if there was anyone needed in the lab. He was in luck. "Yeah," said the blonde receptionist. "Wendy just called in sick; we were just about to call for a replacement. Why?"

"I've got someone who can do it; don't bother calling someone else in." Grissom replied, trying to keep his obvious relief out of his voice.

He started back to the evidence room, dialing Greg's number. Greg picked up after three rings, and his voice was decidedly nervous. "Hello?"

"Hey Greg," Grissom answered. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Greg seemed to sigh with relief.

"Hi Gris," Greg said. In the background, Grissom could hear the sound of a car running.

"Greg, Wendy just called in sick, do you think you could come in again and work in the lab for a shift?" Grissom wondered if Greg would know what they were doing.

"Sure, I've got nothing else to do," Greg replied. "I'm actually almost here,"

Grissom decided to ignore the fact that Greg was driving so close to the crime lab when his apartment was halfway across town. "Great, thanks Greg."

"Who else is in the lab today?"

Grissom frowned. It wasn't like Greg to hold extended phone conversations. "Mia is still here," He answered.

"Okay, cool." Greg replied, but Grissom could clearly tell that Greg was not 'cool'.

Grissom was back at the evidence room, and Catherine was standing over the models looking troubled, but she looked up when he came in. "Hey, Greg, I've got to go. I'll see you in a bit," Grissom said.

After he hung up, Catherine looked at him questioningly. "He okay?"

"He sounded fine, I told him to come in. Wendy called in sick, so I said Greg could work in the lab for her." Grissom explained.

Catherine nodded, and they both turned back to the miniatures. "You know something we haven't done yet?" Catherine said suddenly. "Hand me an ALS."

Grissom handed her the little flashlight and turned the lights off. She glanced at him once before turning it on. Almost wishing that nothing would show up, Grissom looked back at the miniatures. Nothing showed up at first, but when she moved it over the little evidence room, the walls shone. _You tell anyone, he dies now_.

Grissom leaned against the table and turned away from the miniatures. Now their hands were tied. Before, they'd had at least some alternative if they needed it, but now that choice was closed to them. It occurred to him that the killer might be giving empty threats, but the miniatures screamed the opposite. The killer knew almost everything about them, and was close enough to make a perfect ½ inch model of his office. Grissom sighed bitterly. "Turn that thing off," he said irritably.

Catherine did not turn it off though. With a look of horror on her face, she turned around and shone it on the wall that Grissom was facing. There it was again: _You tell anyone, he dies now_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Some Sara POV for those of you who miss her... Hrm... I'm debating whether or not to continue with this because we'll kinda know... who the killer is... tomorow night... at 9:00 pm on channel 8, so... I don't know... anyways, I should be reading Hemingway... Have any of you heard of "Across the River and Into the Trees"??? It's one of his books, I swear... I've never heard of it before until I found it on the shelves... Anyways, I'll stop rambling, Enjoy! and Thank you so much to my reviewers!**

**Chapter 8**

She was glad to have wrapped up her case, but it was four hours after shift should have been over and she was slightly bitter that Grissom had taken Greg off her case. Sara suspected that it might have gone faster had Greg been working with her. The case had been relatively easy though, and she was glad to be going home.

As she made her way to the locker rooms, she noticed Grissom and Catherine in an evidence room. They seemed to be working on something and an ALS was on. Curious, she knocked on the door before stepping in. Catherine turned off the ALS quickly as she walked in and Grissom turned on the lights. "Hi Sara," he greeted her.

She frowned at them. They seemed to be shielding something from her view. "Hey," she replied. "What're you guys working on?"

Grissom smiled, but Sara could tell it was forced. "Just finishing up our 419," he told her.

She knew he was lying, but decided not to press him. "Well, I'm heading home. See you guys later," she said, sparing one last frown for Grissom before leaving.

Grissom had no reason to hide anything from her, did he? She decided she would ask him later when he called.

The locker room was not empty when she got there. To her surprise, Greg was sitting on one of the benches, his lap top in front of him. "Hey Greg," she said as she went to her locker.

He jumped, and she looked at him quizzically as he closed his lap top screen halfway. "Hi Sar'. You're still here."

She nodded. "The case took longer that I thought. Why are you still here? Nick said you went home."

Greg nodded. "I did. Grissom called me back in."

She looked at him sympathetically. "What for? There's nothing to do? Day shift CSIs are all out on their cases, and Grissom doesn't have anything for us."

"What?"

He sounded surprised, and she looked back at him, a notion coming to mind. Grissom was hiding something; maybe Greg was part of it. She shrugged. "Does it seem to you like Grissom is hiding something from us?"

Greg's expression was unreadable. "He is?"

She nodded. "I just walked in on him and Catherine working on something. They didn't seem to want me to know."

Greg sighed. "They did the same thing to me earlier."

Sara looked at him strangely. He looked stressed, and Greg rarely looked this stressed now that his Demetrius James case was over. "You alright?"

Greg looked at her almost exasperatedly. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm, but something didn't seem right to Sara. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

She smiled. "How'd your case go today?"

He scowled. "It went fine, but the suspect got me pretty riled up."

"I hate suspects like that," she replied. "They always leave me mad for the rest of the day." _This must be why Greg is so bothered_.

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah," he looked as if he was going to say something but decided against it.

She smiled at him and locked her locker before leaving. As she left, she looked over her shoulder. Greg had put his screen back up and was watching what looked like a windows media file.


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay! I apologize for the horrendous amount of time it took me to update... hopefully this chapter makes up for it... A big thank you to all my reviewers! **

**A little rant on that season finale: THEY CAN'T DO THAT TO US!!! I'm NOT going to wait for another Season to find out what happens! well... actually, I am, but thats beside the point! I won't say anything here in case I spoil it for anyone, but BAH! yeah, anyways... that was my rant... Happy Reading!**

**Chapter 9**

The USB was more than interesting; it was just as disturbing as the pictures in the envelope. There were two files on it: a word file and a windows media. Greg was faced with indecision when Sara walked in. He was barely aware of what he was saying in his conversation with her, for his mind refused to stay in one place. He knew both files would probably be equally disconcerting and that he would have to look at them eventually.

At least at work he felt safe. The familiar locker room calmed his nerves somewhat. He knew he was in a building full of powerful people who watched out for each other. Also, he had resources here. He couldn't tell others about everything, but he could try and figure it out himself, and the stalker didn't have access to him. The word 'stalker' sent a chill down his spine. He remembered the Nigel Crane case where Nick had a stalker and the memory of those tapes sufficiently creeped him out.

As Sara left, he clicked on the wmv file. It was a collection of clips that he could not remember ever being in, and it was set to his favorite Marilyn Manson song. There was a clip of him driving, and the camera was set somewhere behind him. It changed to one of him sitting in the court room. His eyes widened when he realized it was the Demetrius James case. Alarm shot through him as the scene changed again. But this time, it was not of him, it was of Grissom, and then Catherine, Warrick, Nick and Sara. Were they being stalked as well? The song ended, and words scrolled up the screen. _Did you like my music video? I spent a while on it. You have an intriguing life. Too bad it will end by the time I'm done. By the way, your rent is due in a week. I'm not going to pay it for you like I did last time._

Greg stared at the screen, mind jumping here and there. He did remember the manager telling him his rent had been paid last time. He'd almost forgotten about that. It was before the Demetrius James case, and events since had chased the incident from his mind. His rent _was_ due in a week, he realized. _Too bad it will end by the time I'm done_. So the stalker was intending to kill him. He shivered, suddenly cold.

Almost reluctantly, he clicked on the word file. It was not another disturbing note, but a list of his account numbers, passwords and personal information. He put his face in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. This person had the key to his life. With one twist, he could destroy him, sell him to criminals, open the door to disaster. He was in check mate. Any way he moved, he was trapped. If he tried to change his personal information, the stalker could probably get it back just as easily and exploit it as punishment. If he tried to tell anyone, Greg had no doubt that the stalker would not hesitate to 'finish it now'. The only thing that the stalker had not blocked was the actions Greg could take himself to unmask his stalker.

His mind was growing fuzzy with sleep. The dark behind his hands was inviting, seductive. He wanted very much to close his eyes and take a nap. As a last effort to bring himself back into consciousness, he opened his eyes again and looked up, but the motion-detecting lights had turned off and his mind told him to sleep, so he allowed his head to drop into his hands again.

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, but Warrick was the one who woke him from the doze he'd slipped into. "Hey Greg," he said, shaking his shoulder slightly.

Greg's elbow slipped off his knee and he jerked himself up quickly. His eyes went straight to the computer screen, which had gone to his screensaver. "Hi Warrick," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"How long have you been here, man? You look terrible. Go home and get some sleep." Warrick said with a concerned expression.

Greg got up and stretched. "I'm fine. Gris' called me in to work in the lab for a shift."

"Greg, stand up for yourself. Tell him to call someone else in." Warrick said, making no move to go to his locker.

Greg laughed. The truth was that he would rather be in the lab than anywhere else at the moment, but he couldn't tell anyone about that. "Why are _you_ still here?" He asked pointedly, trying to pull the attention away from himself.

"Just finished up a case," Warrick said, finally moving to his locker. "Didn't you and Nick finish when shift ended?"

Greg nodded, taking out the USB and turning off his lap top. "We finished a while ago."

Warrick turned around and looked at him closely. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Nah, I got the call as soon as I pulled in," Greg replied.

Warrick shrugged. "Well, take care of yourself, Greggo," he said before waving goodbye and leaving.

Greg watched him bitterly as he left. Was he really that transparent? All of his recent conversations had somehow involved the words 'you okay?' and the typical response: 'I'm fine'. Greg was annoyed. It was nice that his friends realized he was troubled, but it got a bit cloying after a while, and with each 'are you okay', he was sorely tempted to tell them the truth, but the memory of the stalker's messages so far killed the words on his tongue.

His phone rang again, and Greg scowled as he dug it out of his pockets. He was about ready to crush it; his phone seemed determined to interrupt his thoughts. The number was Grissom's, and Greg realized suddenly that he had been sitting in the break room for at least thirty minutes. "Sanders," he answered, tucking his lap top under his arm and gathering up the USB and the envelope of pictures. He would process them in the lab.

"Where are you? It's almost been an hour. I thought you were almost here."

"Yeah, I'm coming, sorry."

"Are you—"

"Don't ask me if I'm okay," Greg said quickly, cutting off his boss' words.

Grissom laughed. "Okay then, see you in a bit,"

Greg waved at Grissom from across the hall as he hung up and unlocked the doors to Hodges' empty lab. He knew that Ecklie's team would not be getting back for a while, so he had a good hour or two to kill. He printed the pictures, but the prints all came back as his, and the envelope also yielded nothing useful.

Frustrated, he realized there was nothing left to process. If he wanted to do something with the USB or the pictures, he would need Archie's help, and the stalker had forbidden him from asking anyone for help.

He sat down and rubbed his eyes again. Doing nothing was the last thing he wanted to do. He glanced across the hall into Archie's lab. Archie looked up at him and waved. Greg forced a smile and turned back to AFIS, which still flashed a red 'match found' at him over his own picture.

A thought occurred to him, and he glanced across the hallway again. He was safe here in the lab. There was no way the stalker could know anything about what went on in a building full of police men. It remained if Archie could keep a secret or not. Greg bit his lip nervously. Telling Archie was a risk that Greg didn't want to take, but he needed some sort of help, and Archie wasn't on the stalker's sick little music video. So far, Greg had been given no proof that the stalker had access to the crime lab. He might be bugged. There might be some way for the stalker to monitor him, but Greg convinced himself that as long as he was inside work, he could not be touched, and the stalker would have no idea what he was doing.

With almost feverish eagerness, he hurried across the hallway and knocked on Archie's door. Archie looked bored, and was busy watching an old Star Trek episode. He looked up and paused the movie when he saw Greg. "Hey," he greeted him. "Grissom put you on lab duty today?"

Greg nodded and looked around to see if anyone was coming.

"Are you alright?"

"Everyone's asking me that," Greg replied. "Hey, Archie, can you keep a secret?"

Archie grinned. "What? You cheated on your girlfriend and you want me to check surveillance to make sure she didn't find out?"

Greg laughed nervously. "I wish," he replied. "Archie, this might sound a little strange, but… there's something I need you to do for me, and… we can't tell anyone about it."

Archie dropped his expression of lightheartedness. "Greg, you know everything has to go on record."

Greg dropped into a seat next to him. "I can't afford that," he replied, stressed.

Archie looked at him closely. "Did you do something? "

Greg shook his head. "More like something someone did to me," he said. "Archie, I… I'm in danger right now," he said, frowning to himself. He sounded so melodramatic.

"Tell Grissom," Archie said, face serious.

"I can't," Greg replied. "Please, can you just process this for me? Tell me if there's anything more to it?" he pleaded, handing Archie the envelope.

Archie looked at him a moment longer before opening the envelope and going through the pictures. When he looked back at Greg, his expression was horrified. "Close the door, Greg," he said finally.

Greg closed the door and turned back to Archie. "Read the back of that one," he pointed to the one with the note on it. Archie flipped it over and read it. "That's why I can't tell anyone," Greg said.

Archie looked up. "You think he's after your whole team?" he asked in a hushed voice. Greg didn't reply, and Archie looked down at the pictures again. "Could it be a prank that one of your friends is playing?"

Greg made a little noise of incredulity. "Archie, whoever it was called Catherine from my home phone…after I'd left."

Archie's eyes widened. "That's a little… creepy. Who has a key to your apartment?"

"Aside from me? I gave Nick a copy in case anything happened, the manager… and the maid…" Greg trailed off, remembering the conversation he'd had with Nick during their case.

Archie stared at him. "I still think you should tell someone."

Greg shook his head wearily. "Look at the USB. This guy has my life in a file."

Archie put it in uncertainly. "What are these?"

"The word file has all my accounts, passwords, lock combinations. You name it, it's there." Greg said. "There's no way he could have gotten them all unless he was looking over my shoulder at the computer or something. I have them written down, but they're locked away and I haven't looked at them for at least a year."

"You know he could sell those and make a hell of a profit off of it," Archie pointed out. "You should change them; maybe even cancel all those accounts."

Greg sighed. "I know, but it won't do any good. If he knows the numbers to the accounts I haven't accessed in the past four months, then he could easily get the new ones when I change them."

"Doesn't this remind you of that Nigel Crane guy a while back?" Archie asked suddenly.

Greg nodded. "I thought about that too, but Nigel Crane is still in jail, and he didn't give death threats."

"You've got to do something," Archie said. "If you don't tell someone, things could get out of hand. Greg, this is already really bad. Who knows what he'll do next."

"I know, but I don't want to involve other people. Look at the windows media file. He's got videos of the rest of us too. I'm not in a very good position right now," Greg told him.

Archie clicked on the file. "You told me, didn't you? Why don't you let Grissom know?"

Greg shook his head. "I don't want to get anyone hurt. If I stay silent, I might have a chance to figure it out and back him into a corner before he…"

"Kills you? Greg, he's got _you_ backed into a corner." Archie insisted as the video loaded.

"Archie, if I tell anyone, I put them in the same danger I'm in right now," he said, suddenly realizing who he was talking to.

"You're safe as long as you're in the lab, aren't you?" Archie pointed out. "He's given you no proof that he has access to this place."

Greg nodded. "Yeah, I know, which is why I came to you."

Archie didn't reply, for the video had finished loading, and he pressed play. "Turn it down!" Greg hissed at him when it started.

Archie looked at him, surprised. "Gregory Sanders? Asking me to turn down music?"

Greg grinned reluctantly at him. "Grissom and Catherine are down the hall,"

Archie gave him a look of faint disapproval, but turned back to the screen, watching the clip of Greg in the courtroom. "Is that the Demetrius James case?" he asked, incredulous. "Isn't it illegal to film unprofessionally inside a court room?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah, but it's also illegal to stalk someone. I don't think this guy holds the law in very much respect."

When the video had finished playing, Archie turned to him, looking disturbed. "He paid your bill for you?"

"I guess so," Greg answered. "I'd forgotten about that because of the whole Demetrius James thing."

Archie nodded understandingly. "So you want me to process this for you?"

Greg nodded and stood up. "Yeah, and please don't tell anyone.

Archie looked up at him. "Okay," he said finally. "But if anything happens, I'm going to break that promise."

Greg nodded. "Fair enough, Thank you, Archie."


	10. Chapter 10

**Once again, I apologize for the horrible amount of time it took me to update. I have an excuse though! I just got back from a three-day backpacking trip... so yeah... anyways, have fun guys!**

**Chapter 10**

He had to call Sara. He'd almost forgotten about that. "Hey Cath, I've got to go make a call," he said, putting down the scope. "I'll be right back,"

She nodded, not looking up from her autopsy of the little doll. With a start, he remembered the doll was a tiny version of Greg. Disturbed, he stepped outside of the room, closed the door and pressed speed dial 1.

"Hey," Sara answered after only one ring.

"Hi Sara,"

"Are you coming home soon?"

He sighed and looked at his watch. "Sar', I don't think we're going to be done for a while."

"What are you working on?"

He sighed. He knew this question was going to crop up eventually. "I can't tell you that," he answered.

She was silent for a moment. "Gil, you haven't hidden anything from me for a long time."

"I know. I'm sorry, but I still can't say anything,"

There was another pause. "So when are you coming home?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I'll call later."

"Okay," another pause. "I love you,"

He smiled. "I love you too, Sar'"

When he got back, Catherine was waiting for him. "Look at this," she said, pointing to something.

Grissom moved to stand next to her and looked at the little body. The inside was foam, but it was soaked with what looked like blood. "In all the other murder scenes," Grissom started slowly. "The cause of death has always been in the model. Maybe that's the reason for the blood. Let's run a sample through tox."

"I thought we already agreed that he died of bleach poisoning?" Catherine asked. "And besides, how are we going to do that? Greg's here, and he's going to wonder why we didn't give the sample to him. He's not doing anything."

Grissom looked out across the hall. "He's talking to Archie. Let's run it now."

They both sat anxiously in Greg's lab and Catherine's fingers tapped a sharp staccato on the countertop as they waited. Grissom couldn't help but be annoyed, but he didn't say anything. The case was beginning to get on his nerves. He wanted to keep Greg safe, but the killer was preventing them from telling anyone, and Grissom didn't want to take a chance with Greg's life.

It finally printed, and Catherine took the print out, reeling off a list of elements. When she'd finished, she looked at Grissom questioningly.

"It's a type of sedative," said a voice before Grissom could reply.

They both whirled around to see Greg standing in the doorway. There was a moment of awkward silence as both Grissom and Catherine tried to calm their rapidly beating hearts. Grissom saved her from answering. "A sedative?"

Greg nodded. "When I was in the lab, I saw it in only a handful of cases. It's easy to come by, but hard to mix up."

"Easy to come by?" Grissom questioned.

"The right ingredients are found in everyday cleaning supplies," Greg answered. "Dishwasher soap, Lysol, bleach…"

Grissom exchanged a glance with Catherine. "Sounds deadly," she commented.

Greg shrugged. "Sometimes it is. It depends on what kind of a dose you get."

"It's not consumed, is it?"

"No," Greg answered. "Injected. Few people know about it; I read about it in a forensics journal: one tiny article on the very back page. Last month's edition, actually. It's probably still in the break room."

Grissom looked at the young man closely. Before, Greg had appeared hassled, tense and even jumpy. Something had definitely happened, but now he appeared more normal. Grissom guessed it was the lab. Greg probably felt he was safe in the lab. Grissom clearly saw the irony in this, but did not comment.

"Thanks, Greg," Grissom said.

"No problem, I guess I can't hope for you telling me what you're working on?" Greg asked, stepping inside.

Grissom smiled. "No, I'm sorry,"

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Okay, keep your secrets."

Grissom and Catherine returned to their evidence room, Catherine sighing with relief. "That's two times he's come close to our evidence," Catherine said.

Grissom nodded.

"What do you think this means?" Catherine asked.

Grissom shook his head. "I guess it means that Greg is going to be sedated, but none of this makes sense."

"What kind of evidence would we have?" She said, pointing at the little evidence room. "This suggests that we already have a crime scene to work with, but in this model, we haven't found his… the body."

Grissom nodded again. "So between now and then, we'll have another case that's somehow connected?"

Catherine sighed and looked down at her watch. "Oh my goodness, Gil. I'm late picking up Lindsey and I didn't call her."

Grissom nodded. "You should go. I think we've done almost everything we can with this model for now. We need time to think. What do you say we put it away for a week?"

Catherine nodded, distracted. "I'll see you later today," she said.

Grissom waved goodbye and took out his phone to call Sara. It had been a long day of work, but he knew that they had not yet unraveled all of the killer's clues. Something didn't fit right, and the killer always had perfect puzzles.


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, I'm sorry, I have no excuse... I got lazy... anyways... so here's ch. 11, its a little longer than usual to make up for the horrible amount of time it took me to update... I think I kinda forgot about this story actually... but here I am updating, so yay! have fun reading! **

**Chapter 11**

9 days later

They'd had a quiet week, and that was something they did not see very often. Nick rather liked it, but it was short lived. Ten minutes ago, he'd gotten a call about a serial killer, so now he was on his way to a crime scene. He was not at all happy when Grissom informed him it would only be him, Greg and Warrick working this one. Serial cases didn't wrap up easily, especially when there were only three people working it.

Annoyed, he pulled over and picked up his case before getting out and waving at Greg, who'd just arrived also. "Hey, Greggo," he greeted his friend.

Greg waited for him and grinned as he drew nearer. "You don't look awake," Greg observed.

Nick looked the man over. "Neither do you," he shot back. If he looked tired, then Greg looked like the walking dead. There were deep circles under his eyes, and as much as he tried to hide it, he walked with a distinct slouch, and the usual sparkle was gone from his eyes. In the dull light of dusk, Nick could tell his eyes were bloodshot, and he wondered briefly when the last time was that the man got any sleep.

Greg smiled back. "You know, when I worked in the lab, I actually got eight hours of sleep a night."

Nick grinned. "I haven't gotten a good night's sleep since high school. Oh wait, we were up doing homework then also."

Greg laughed. "What've we got here?"

Nick's grin slid off his face. "Gris' says it's a serial."

"Oh great. Who's working the case with us?"

"Warrick."

"That's it?" Greg asked. "How many cases have there been?"

"Gris' says there have been three,"

"Does he _want_ us to solve the case? Where is he, anyways?" Greg asked exasperatedly.

"He says that he and Catherine were needed on another case on the strip." Nick answered.

"They've been working together a lot lately."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, and they've been all hush-hush about something."

Greg snorted. "I wonder if Catherine remembers what happened last time _someone_ tried to hide something from the rest of us,"

Nick laughed. "Apparently not,"

"Who was working on this case before us?"

"Catherine, Grissom and 'Rick."

"So what's Sara up to?"

"She's working solo tonight,"

Brass walked up to them, looking puzzled. "Grissom doesn't usually switch crews on serial cases, does he?"

"He'd better not make a habit of it. This is supposed to be my night off," Nick said, grumbling.

Brass gave him a sympathetic look. "Anyone else coming?"

"Rick's going to be here in a bit." Nick answered. "So I hear this is the fourth case?"

Brass nodded. "Yup, guy seems to go for teenage girls around 13 or 14."

"Rape?"

Brass nodded again, and Nick scowled. "Why doesn't Grissom have the whole team on it? He can't ask dayshift to take our other cases?"

Brass smiled wryly. "He's too proud at the moment. He and Ecklie had a bit of a run-in."

"What happened?" Greg asked.

"Ecklie accused him of laziness. I guess he was busy working on something and wasn't answering his phone. When Ecklie found him looking through forensics magazines, he flipped out and they had a little argument." Brass said, now grinning openly. "I just happened to be walking by,"

"A forensics journal?" Nick asked disbelievingly. "Grissom doesn't waste time reading magazines on shift."

Brass shrugged. "It was a couple days back. I'd expect them to be over it by now, but I guess they are never really reconciled, eh?"

Nick grinned. "Grissom and Ecklie? Oil and water, man, oil and water."

Brass laughed. "You know, someday that guy's going to do something good and you're all going to have to thank him."

Nick made a face. "Oh please, don't make me think about that,"

"Another one?"

They all turned around to see Warrick staring up at the house with an expression of resignation. Nick grinned. "Hey 'Rick."

Warrick pulled his gaze away from the house. "Where're Grissom and Catherine?"

"He gave us this case. Hey, Rick, I'm not happy about being here either. This is my night off." Nick told him.

Warrick grinned at him. "We all have to make sacrifices. Should we get started?"

"Good idea," Brass said.

Brass briefed them on the case, and Warrick filled in a couple things as they made their way across the perfectly manicured lawn and in the neatly painted door. Nick looked at the scene with revulsion. There was blood tracked around the house and out the back door, and the girl's naked body lay on the couch. "It's always the back door," Brass said. "And always the couch, those poor parents."

Nick, Warrick and Greg stood surveying the scene with sinking hearts. It was going to take all night. Brass patted him on the shoulder. "Get a move on, buddy."

Nick scowled at the captain before taking out his camera. "I'll take the living room?"

Warrick nodded. "I'll take the perimeter then. Just to let you know, most of the action in these scenes happens in the living room and kitchen. In the other three we found no evidence of the killer being upstairs, so leave that for last."

"Gotcha, thanks."

Nick moved into the living room, shaking his head sadly at the sight of the girl. "Hey, David."

David looked up at him from where he crouched next to the body. "TOD is somewhere around 3:00 pm."

"Right after school," Nick said out loud. "So he was waiting inside for her?"

David shrugged. "Can I move the body?"

Nick nodded and moved around the coroner to start on the opposite side of the couch. They'd only been processing for about thirty minutes when he heard Greg's cell phone ring. He glanced around and did a double take. Greg was holding a different phone from the one Nick remembered, and Greg looked, to say the least, anxious, as he answered. "Sanders," he answered. "Oh hi… I what—No, no I paid. What? No, remember? Two days ago, I dropped a check off. _Yes_, I did, _no_ I didn't come back and take it. Why would I do that… Mrs. Lennards? Yes, the first time I mailed it in, when you didn't get it, I dropped another one off at the office… I was sure I did… No, I didn't forget. What? Of course I want to live there! What are you talking about?! Oh come on… No, I've just been really busy…. What?" There was a long pause, and Nick turned back to his work, but when Greg replied, it was in a tone that Nick was almost positive he would never forget. "Yeah, okay. I'm at a crime scene right now. I'll stop by and pick it up afterwards. Mrs. Lennards? It wasn't me… No! I'm not lying to you!"

He heard Greg hang up and turned around to see him shove his phone in his pocket angrily. "You alright, Greggo?" He asked.

"Damn it!" The man cursed.

"What happened?"

Greg looked at him, scowling. "I got evicted."

Nick gave him an incredulous stare. "Evicted? Why?"

"Apparently I didn't pay my rent, and…" he trailed off, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"And?"

"I guess somebody ripped up half of the bedroom carpet."

Nick blinked. "You did what?"

"I didn't do it!" Greg almost yelled. "I haven't even been home in the past week, except to drop off a check that apparently _I didn't pay_."

Nick suddenly felt concerned for him. "Greg, if you didn't do it, then somebody's messing with you."

"I hope they're having fun," Greg said sourly.

"You should look into that, Greg," Nick said seriously.

Before Greg could reply, his phone beeped, and Greg flipped it open again, reading a text. His expression turned from one of anger to one of worry, and he closed his phone again, looking troubled.

"You haven't been home for a week?" Nick asked, suddenly. Something wasn't right here.

Greg turned back to the phone he'd been printing. "I've been busy," he said shortly.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"This has been a slow week,"

"I've had family problems,"

Nick frowned. "No you haven't, Greg. What's bothering you?"

"Just let it go. I'm fine."

Nick knew Greg was far from fine, but if he didn't want to talk about it, then Nick wasn't going to bug him about it. "Greg?" he tried again.

Greg still didn't turn. "Yeah?"

"Do have someplace to stay?"

Greg turned around slowly. "I can check into a motel or something."

Nick shook his head. "I've got room at my place. They're going to make you pay to for their carpet," he pointed out. "You might as well save money by not paying for a room."

Greg's expression softened. "Thanks," he said.

"If you want, we can take my SUV back to your apartment to pick up your stuff. You can fit more in mine than your little car." Nick offered.

Greg smiled, but Nick could tell it was forced. "That'd be great. Thanks, Nick."

Warrick opened the back door and stepped around the bloody footprints. He looked up and stopped. "Should I go back outside?" he asked jokingly.

They grinned at him, and Nick glanced at Greg's expression. The man was definitely bothered by something, and Nick had seen enough in his career to know ignoring such things was dangerous.

"The killer goofed this time," Warrick announced.

"Oh?" Nick asked. "How so?"

"He left a little something behind." Warrick said, holding up a plastic bag containing a used condom.

Nick made a face. "Outside?"

"With his bag of goodies," Warrick said, holding up another bag. "A bloody knife, her necklace and what looks like a gag."

"Keepsakes?"

Warrick shrugged. "We didn't find a gag, knife or necklace at the other ones, and we didn't find semen either, so he was probably wearing a condom for those also."

"And he suddenly gets sloppy and leaves them?"

Warrick shook his head. "I talked to the neighbor over the fence. The fence isn't very high, you see, and so this old lady came out to see who was making such a racket in her neighbor's house, saw the suspect running out and sprayed pepper spray in his face."

"Cool," Nick grinned. "I'll take it back to Hodges to process." He glanced back over at Greg, who looked at him also, gratitude shining in his eyes.

Warrick shifted. "You sure you don't want me to leave?"

**Reviews will prevent me from forgetting about this story again... ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Okay, this time I have an excuse... not that you'll accept it: Finals, last day of school, the fair and parties... Anyways! About this chapter: you might want to look over Chapter 11 again just to get on track... but I guess you don't really need to... anyways! enjoy! and I promise that now that school's out, I'll be updating a lot more... with your help of course coughreviewscoughcough... :)**

**Chapter 12**

_I am having fun, and you are playing it very close, my friend_. Greg remembered the text from his stalker with a twinge of fear. It _had_ been a quiet week, for more than just Nick. Greg's stalker hadn't done anything for the past eight days, but just when Greg was getting used to the idea that his stalker had gotten bored, he was mysteriously evicted. Sure, he hadn't been at home for the past week. He'd checked into a hotel due to his unwillingness to face the emptiness, or lack thereof in his apartment. But he was certain that he'd paid his rent for he remembered stopping by and dropping a check off.

He nibbled on a fingernail nervously as Warrick pulled out. Nick had left for the lab already to drop off evidence, so Greg was sitting in the passenger seat of Warrick's Denali, staring out the window. The text he'd gotten a couple hours back implied a lot of things, most of which Greg was unprepared to deal with. The stalker would have had to be listening to his conversation somehow, and he knew for a fact that there was nobody else in that house with them. It was a cleared crime scene and the only people there were Nick, Warrick, Brass and a couple police officers. The stalker had to have him bugged somehow. Greg shuddered at the thought. As soon as they got back to the lab, he would stop in the locker room and check his clothes.

It had been a whole week, Greg thought wistfully. A whole week since something happened. It happened occasionally that stalkers got bored and moved on, but no such luck for him. Greg hadn't slept properly since the last weekend. His stalker's words haunted his dreams and thoughts, and although Greg was somewhat hopeful that the stalker had forgotten him, his dreams were still restless and tense. Coffee had been the elixir of life for the past week, and Greg had learned that when he worked, his sleepiness was suspended. Sure, he'd tried to sleep a couple times, but it never worked, and he either couldn't fall asleep, or he woke up with the sheets tangled around him. He knew his lack of sleep showed, but he simply blamed it on work. Most of his friends didn't buy this lie, but it got them to leave him alone for a little while at least. However, now he had more to worry about than anxious friends. His stalker had gotten his attention again.

So far, Archie was the only one who knew. Greg knew that some of the others were close to guessing, but he didn't think any of them had put two and two together yet. He didn't know what would happen if it turned out some of his friends found out on their own, but he didn't want to take chances. He often wished bitterly that his friends would stop asking him if he was okay. His conversations always ended up so self-centered, and that made him feel insecure. The only thing that Greg had to connect to the stalker was the USB.

However, Archie's examination of the music video and pictures had not taken him very long for the sole reason that he'd found nothing too interesting.

_"Hey Greg!" _

_Greg turned around to see Archie waving at him from his lab. "I finished those pictures you gave me," _

_Greg's heart leapt with hope, but fell a moment later as he realized Archie's expression. "Did you find anything worth noting?" Greg asked, but his hope was silently dissolving. _

_Archie made a noncommittal movement. "Well, I don't know if you'll consider it worth noting. It's more… unnerving." _

_"What?" _

_Archie pointed at his computer screen. "This was a reflection in one of them, but there's nothing there." _

_Greg blinked. "He's got hidden cameras in my car?" _

_The picture was that of him driving, and the reflection was on his GPS screen. Archie shrugged. "That's what it seems like. If so, then it's in your ceiling somewhere. I couldn't see a thing, but look at this," He enlarged the original picture. "There's a little something covering the bottom of the camera here," he said, pointing. _

_Greg suddenly remembered that night when he'd gotten the call reading off his GPS coordinates. "How possible is it that the camera might be sending live feed somewhere?" _

_"A webcam?" Archie guessed. "Well, they're not that hard to find. He might have had a little trouble hiding it, but you could probably uncover it with little work." _

_Greg was silent for a moment. "He'd have to charge it also," _

_Archie shrugged. "Some batteries last a long time, and if he had access to your car to put it there in the first place, he could just as easily replace the batteries now and then." _

_Greg nodded. "Did you get anything else?" _

_Archie frowned. "Well, most of the video clips of you and your team were shaky, and that means that somebody was holding the camera, and not doing a very good job of it. The pictures were most likely also taken by a person, not a hidden camera, except for this one." He pulled up the picture of Greg at his lap top in his bedroom. _

_"From the angle this is taken, we know that the camera isn't anywhere on your computer," Archie said. "Do you always sit in that spot when you use your computer at home?" _

_Greg shook his head. "I remember that night, too. I don't usually use my lap top at home because I have a computer." He looked closer at the picture. He was sitting on his bed, consumed with his work. "We'd had a power shortage, and I needed to send something to Grissom ASAP, so I used my lap top. If I remember correctly, I ran out of juice right after I sent it." _

_Archie was frowning. "So the stalker couldn't have planted the camera before hand. What should be right where the camera is?" _

_A chill went down Greg's spine. "A closet," Greg replied in a hushed voice. "I always keep it closed." _

_Archie gave him a serious look. "You should move out of that apartment. It might not stop your stalker, but it'll hold him off for a bit." _

And it was on Archie's advice that Greg had checked into a hotel that day after shift. After his conversation, he'd immediately gone through his car and found the webcam. Since then, he'd been very observant of people around him, but couldn't seem to pick out one person. It was all very trying.

His phone ringing jerked him out of his reflections, and he answered it wearily. "Sanders,"

"Hey, Greggy,"

Greg sighed. "Hi mom,"

He noticed Warrick give him a quizzical look, and Greg returned it with a scowl. His mom was talking animatedly. "Hey Greggy! We got tickets to Vegas for next weekend!"

His scowl intensified. "That's…"

But his mom continued talking. "We're going to come visit you!"

Greg sighed. "Okay, cool mom, but I'm staying at a friend's. You're going to have to check into a hotel."

He could tell his mother was disappointed. "Will you come stay with us?"

"Mom, I've been really busy lately. I'll come and show you guys around, but I can't stay with you. I work at night," he explained.

"Okay honey, can we come check out your work?"

Greg flinched. He still hadn't told his mother that he was in the field. He didn't want to hear her squeals of 'It's too dangerous!' and 'Oh, honey! What if you get hurt?!'. "Uh… Mom, they have a no visitors policy now…"

Warrick looked at him questioningly, but Greg shook his head. His mother was responding. "Oh," she said. "How's the lab work going?"

He sighed and looked out the window. "Fine," he said.

"So you're back on night shift?"

"Yeah,"

"Honey, I've told you before that working at night is bad for your sleeping patterns," his mother said disapprovingly.

Greg tried to avoid retorting. He loved his mother, but sometimes she was ridiculously hard to be around. "Yeah, I know, but I like it better. Vegas is quieter during the day, surprisingly."

His mother laughed. "Greggy, you're still the same old kid, you know."

Greg smiled. "Yeah," he replied. "I'll see you next weekend then? Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?"

"No, it's alright. We're going to check into a hotel and then call you, alright?"

"Yeah, how long are you going to be here?"

She sounded disappointed. "We only got tickets for a weekend, so we're getting here Saturday morning and leaving Sunday afternoon."

After he'd hung up, Warrick sniggered. "No visitors policy?"

Greg scowled at him. "I haven't told her that I'm doing field work now."

"So what kind of person is your mother?" Warrick asked curiously.

Greg sighed. "Too motherly, that pretty much sums it up."

"Didn't she ever hear about the Demetrius James thing?" Warrick asked.

Greg shook his head. "I don't actually hear from her that much, so it's not that hard to leave stuff out when I do talk to her, and besides, who gets beaten to a pulp in a lab building full of police officers?"

Warrick looked at him, grinning. "You know she's going to find out someday."

"Yeah, but not today, and not next weekend… maybe after I've retired," Greg said.

Warrick laughed. "You guys want me to work on the case while you go pick your stuff up. Your manager sounds pretty pissed with you."

Greg had told Warrick about his eviction not long ago. "I'm still on shift; I can't leave right now,"

Warrick frowned at him. "I can take this case for an hour or two, you know. I'm just going to be processing evidence."

Greg shook his head. "No, I can wait until after shift," he insisted.

Warrick nodded slowly and changed the subject. "You get a new phone?"

Greg shook his head again. "Nope, this is my old one; I lost the other one a couple days ago."

"I hate losing my phone. After the first time I lost mine, I actually started writing down numbers," Warrick told him.

Greg laughed. "Yeah, that's usually helpful."

They passed the rest of the drive back talking about mundane things, and Greg found it soothing. When they'd gotten to the lab, however, the enormity of everything came crashing back down on him, and he made up an excuse to go to the locker rooms.

Once in the safety of the empty locker rooms, he unzipped his CSI vest and went through the pockets of his jeans. There was nothing there, and he frantically pulled his shirt over his head and checked the t-shirt. He could find nothing. Doubtfully, he checked his shoes, but once again, nothing could be found. Stumped, and slightly fearful, he sat down on the bench to think. Halfway through his first thought, however, his eyes fell on the CSI vest.

In the tiny pocket that had his name embroidered into it was a little microphone. He took it out and held it in his hand, amazed. He'd left his vest in his locker, just like he did every day. The only way it could have gotten there was if someone knew his combo. He'd thought that work was the safest place, but it appeared that even there, the stalker had access to his belongings.

He examined the microphone and carefully removed the little batteries before dropping them all in a little bag that he lay on the bench to drop off with Archie. Hesitantly, almost afraid he would find another note, he opened his locker. He went through all his things in the locker, checking for any sort of tracking device, and with relief, found nothing. There was a little cardboard box in the back left corner of his locker, and he took it out last. Inside was the envelope he'd received a week ago with the USB and pictures. He'd written the date on it and also left a little explanation of everything that happened. Maybe he was being melodramatic, but at least if something happened to him, his team members would have something to follow.

He sighed. He would need another lock. There had to be at least one place that he could keep safe from his stalker. After a moment's consideration, he closed his locker and took out his phone to call Warrick.

"Hey, Greg, what's up?"

"How's the case going?" Greg asked, walking briskly in the direction of Archie's lab, holding the bag that contained the disconnected microphone.

"Pretty good," Warrick replied. "We're waiting for trace to run. I'll let you know when we've got a suspect."

"Do you think I have time to run over to the store really quick?"

"Yeah, sure, take all the time you need, Nick and I can handle stuff for a bit."

Greg dropped the microphone off with Archie, who looked at him with concern, but Greg waved off his observations and hurried out to his car. The store wasn't far away, and it didn't take him long to find a combination lock.

Once back in his car, Greg glanced up at the ceiling where the camera was once hidden between the ceiling and roof vent. After assuring himself that the car was bug-free, he opened the box and glanced at the combination before tucking it in his pocket, making a mental note of everyone he'd seen in the store.

At the lab, he made sure there was no one watching as he changed the lock on his locker, covering the dial with one hand to prevent any hidden or surveillance cameras from seeing his combination. He put the other lock in the little box along with all his other 'evidence' and closed his locker. The combination paper he would keep in his pocket where he could keep track of it. He sighed with relief as he left, hoping it wasn't a false sense of comfort.


	13. Chapter 13

**Ha! I told you I'd update more often... so here's chappie 13, I'm sad to say it's more of a filler chapter... the next one will be up soon and I'm pretty sure it has more interesting stuff...**

**Chapter 13**

Catherine was anxious. She and Grissom had worked on the miniature a couple days ago, but she couldn't help but feel as if they weren't getting anywhere. They'd done as much as they could with the model, and it still didn't make sense. The little cleaning supplies closet was not hard to find. It was on the same floor as Grissom's office, but almost all the cleaning rooms looked exactly the same, and it still didn't explain a lot of things.

They'd tossed ideas around, especially the idea that the killer might be a custodian. It tied in the bleach, and the mysterious mixture of chemicals they'd found in the blood saturated foam that made up the inside of the little body. However, Grissom pointed out that questioning all the custodians of the crime lab was not only ineffective, but would imply that they were working on something and spark interest in the rest of the team.

She felt helpless, and it was a feeling that she did not like at all. Her eyes were wary, and each time she saw Greg, she couldn't help but remember the little body that lay, cut open, under her inspection. Both she and Grissom were looking out for the kid, making sure that he was okay, and trying to assure themselves that they still had time to interfere with the killer's plans if needed.

She didn't know if Greg had noticed anything about their secretive behavior, but she definitely noticed something about him. He looked stressed, to say the least. In the past week he hadn't seemed as jumpy as one week ago, but he seemed to slowly deteriorate and she longed to help him but the memory of the message in the evidence room allowed her to only watch.

The case that she and Grissom were working didn't help either. It was a simple case, but it reminded her of the little model. Their victim had died of suffocation, and she couldn't help but think back to the miniature. She jumped as her cell phone rang. "Willows," she answered.

"Hey Cath," Grissom answered. "The vic didn't die of suffocation. He died of loss of blood."

"Which one?" she asked automatically.

"The Herring case,"

"Oh," she said, recognizing the name of the case they were working. "Okay, well. I'm in the lab right now, and there's some… interesting information about his brother online."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah," she answered. "His half brother owns the little restaurant that Herring died at. And… he was working that night."

"Oh really? Call him in."

"Sure thing," she paused. "Hey Gil?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you get anything else off that miniature?"

Grissom had taken the model home with him after each time they studied it in an effort to keep it secret from the others. "No," he replied, sighing. "Cath, he's going to be fine. We're going to stop it."

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. "Gil, this makes me nervous. Every day we don't do something is another day that Greg could die."

"Catherine, the model says clearly that we still have two and a half weeks. This guy is very precise. He won't kill off schedule, because of pride if nothing else."

"I know, but… Gil, what if he's already dead in the miniature? What if he's not supposed to die in that room?" Catherine asked.

"Cath? I'm just as nervous about this as you are. Everything's going to be alright. The best thing we can do for him right now, and for the investigation, is to stay calm and think this out logically."

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "I guess I sound really… I'm not giving up, Gil. I'm just… The miniature doesn't make any sense. There are so many… inconsistencies."

"I know, we'll look at it some more later, okay? After we wrap this case up."

She nodded to herself silently. "Okay," she said finally. "I'll see you later," she said, hanging up and running her fingers through her hair agitatedly.

"Catherine?"

She jumped and turned around to see Archie standing in the doorway. "Hi, Archie," she answered, heart beating wildly. How much did he hear?

"I finished processing the cell phone video you left with me," he told her.

"Great! Thanks, Archie," she replied, a little too cheerily.

Archie gave her a strange look as they walked back to his lab. "You guys have another miniature?"

She looked at him, alarmed. "No… we… we're looking at the older ones. You know, trying to figure stuff out. Maybe there's some way we can prevent any more."

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop on you," Archie said apologetically. "You look really stressed, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," She replied, silently thinking about all the ways she _wasn't_ fine. Keeping such a threat of death to herself was taking its toll on her nerves.

She could tell Archie didn't believe her, but she didn't make a big deal of it. Instead, she forced herself to listen to Archie's explanation, mind restless.

**For those of you who read "Beautiful Life", I did a lot of guessing at factual stuff in that fic... in this one, my only made-up 'fact' is the 'sedative' thing that they find in the miniature... anyways, reviews make me happy, as always. :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Not much to say about this chapter except "sorry for the wait"... I hope it satisfies you a little more... Anyways! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 14**

Their case had not taken very long to finish up and Warrick offered to take the interview while Nick and Greg went to pick up his stuff. Greg wasn't sure that he wanted to face his manager. She was sure to throw an accusation in his face, and he couldn't rebuke it without Nick suspecting something. He was trapped once again: forced to admit to something he didn't do.

Nick was driving and he was saying something, but Greg didn't notice until Nick said his name. "Greg?"

"Huh?" Greg looked up, yawning. He was tired all of a sudden, and he tried to remember when the last time he slept was. It must have been three days ago. He recalled falling asleep for an hour or two before he woke up to go to work.

"Greg?"

He was doing it again. "Sorry," he said, turning to Nick and trying to force his mind to focus.

"I asked you if you wanted me to run across the street to get you something to eat while you loaded up the car," Nick said, his gaze piercing.

Greg blinked. "No, it's fine, you don't have to pay for me, I can wait."

Greg expected him to insist, but after a searching look, Nick looked away and nodded. Greg hoped that Nick couldn't guess what he was thinking. To be truthful to himself, Greg admitted that he didn't want Nick to leave him alone in the apartment. The stalker was pretty clear about his intentions to kill, and Greg had no time frame to judge by. At the moment, he was living in constant apprehension of what might happen.

The car was silent again, and Greg returned to his staring out the window. He wanted his life back. He wanted to be able to live without fear again, wanted to be able to walk down the street without looking over his shoulder and hold conversations without anxiously trying to make sure nobody else was listening.

Somewhere amidst his reflections as he sat in the car, he suddenly realized something. The stalker was getting exactly what he wanted: Greg's fear and paranoia. Greg knew he had a right to be frightened, but if he let it show, it would consume him. His co-workers and friends had been seeing the nasty side of his anxiety, and that wasn't fair to them. With strange conviction, he promised to himself to establish some sort of control over his feelings. Also, he realized that if he let the stalker's efforts affect him, the stalker was triumphant, and triumph was a dangerous feeling in the hands of one who created fear for pleasure.

"I'm sorry," he said on sudden impulse.

"What for?" Nick asked.

"I've been really…" he trailed off. How could he apologize for something he couldn't explain? "Out of line lately,"

Nick glanced at him and then back to the road, but Greg could see something in the man's gaze. "Do you want to talk about it?" Nick asked.

"Not really," Greg replied. "I just wanted to apologize."

Nick didn't reply as he parked the car in the apartment parking lot. Just as Greg was opening the door of the passenger side, however, Nick replied. "Greg, there's some times where explanations are more appropriate than apologies," he looked Greg straight in the eye as he said so. "I'm not faulting you, but if you're having problems, you should talk to someone about them,"

Nick got out of the car, but Greg sat there, staring at the space where Nick's face had been. The man was very perceptive, and he'd seen right into the heart of Greg's problem. Greg did need to tell someone, but he couldn't, and he couldn't explain that to Nick without explaining his problem also.

He realized that Nick was waiting outside for him, and so he got out quickly, still pensive. "Should we go talk to your manager?" Nick asked, his voice normal as if nothing had passed between them in the car.

Greg sighed. "Probably, she'll want to know I'm here."

He led the way to the apartment office. As they entered, Mrs. Lennards looked up, her eyes fiery. "Mrs. Lennards," he said, forcing his feelings under control.

"Mr. Sanders," she greeted him, her eyes still burning with controlled anger. "You'll have to pay a 200 dollar fine for your damage to the carpet."

Greg wanted to protest, but he knew Nick was standing in the room with him, and the weight of his phone in his pocket served as a dark reminder of his stalker. "Can I go get my stuff?" he asked in a barely level voice.

"Come back and give me the key when you're done," she said coldly.

Greg nodded, and he and Nick made their way out of the office. "Mr. Sanders,"

He turned around. "I filed a police report for vandalism," said his manager.

"You what?!" he was angry now. "Mrs. Lennards, that's ridiculous! I didn't even do anything!"

Her eyes flashed at him. "Mr. Sanders, go collect your things before I call the security guard to remove you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but Nick put a hand on his arm and pulled him out the door. Through the Plexiglas window, Greg could see the manager glaring at him, her hand hovering over the phone threateningly.

"Greg," Nick said. "Look, man, you can't let that go. You've got to tell someone about it," he said in a placating voice.

"I can't!" Greg said, voice shaking with anger.

"Why not?"

Greg stared at him in consternation.

"Why not? Greg, she's filing a police report! You're going to be fined some more!" Nick told him, pulling him around just before they started going up the stairs. "Greg, you aren't you at all. I'm just going to say this out right, okay? Normally you're very controlled and not afraid to stick up for yourself. What's happened to you? You've been a bundle of nerves lately."

Greg slumped against the wall. "Can Brass do something about the police report?"

"Not if you don't tell him," Nick insisted, crossing his arms.

Greg sighed and started up the stairs.

"Greg?"

"I can't tell you anything, okay?!" he half-yelled, whirling on his friend.

Nick gave him a long look before pushing past him up the stairs. "Let's go get your stuff,"

Greg cursed to himself. "Nick, Nick!" he hurried to catch up with his friend. "Look, I don't want to snap at you, but I really can't tell you anything. This isn't my fault!"

They were at the top of the stairs now, and Nick turned around, eyes full of meaning. "Greg, I'm not blaming you," he said softly.

"Can we just pretend this never happened?" Greg asked, a pleading note in his voice.

Nick gave him another long look, and his eyes softened slowly. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Greg couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief as they walked the rest of the way there. He didn't want to be at odds with Nick, but the sight of his door temporarily expelled the memory of their argument.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to open that door, wasn't sure if he wanted to open the door to a possibly occupied apartment. However, he felt Nick's eyes on the back of his head, so he dug out his key and opened the door.

Nick made no comment about the large pile of mail on his floor or the flashing 10 on his answering machine. "How do you want to do this?" Nick asked.

Greg looked around and sighed. "Well, first, I want to check out my bedroom."

Nick nodded, and they both walked down the hall to his bedroom. As he entered, he glanced at the open closet nervously. He was almost positive it wasn't open the last time he'd been there, but he forgot about the closet as his eyes were drawn to the opposite side of the room. The carpet had not been ripped up, but there were great gouges to it as if someone had taken to it with a rake. "I wonder when that happened," he mumbled to himself.

Nick looked back at him but didn't answer. "Hey Greg, I'm going to print your window. Whoever did this must have come in through your bedroom window."

Greg looked from his friend to the windowsill. He knew that Nick was not going to find anything, and printing the window would appease Nick's need for information. "Okay, I'm going to go through my mail and then get a start on packing up, alright?"

Nick looked at the window almost hungrily. "Sure, I'll go get my kit."

Greg watched Nick leave apprehensively. He hadn't thought about Nick leaving him alone in the house to get his CSI kit. He glanced at the open closet again before going back into the kitchen to look through his mail.

There was nothing of great interest, but as he set down the last bill, he uncovered another yellow envelope. He turned around, suddenly feeling eyes on the back of his neck, but there was no one there. Dreading what would fall out, he opened the envelope. This time there were no pictures, but two checks and 200 dollars. Greg closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his mind, which was screaming at him to do something. He recognized the two checks as the ones he signed for the rent, and from between the two one hundred dollar bills, a note fell out, written in red ink. _For the carpet_, it read. _Oh yeah, and I found your cell phone_.

Greg stared at the note before hearing his old ring tone from somewhere under the pile of mail that he'd moved to the table. He frantically cleared away the mail and found his old cell phone. The number on it was restricted.

"Hello?" he answered, trying to inject some conviction in his voice.

"Mr. Sanders?" came an altered voice.

"Who are you?" Greg asked, looking around him fearfully.

"I don't think we need to discuss that," said the voice. "Mr. Sanders, when I set rules, you are expected to follow them. I thought my notes made that clear, but apparently not. You told Mr. Johnson about everything, and you've given Mr. Stokes more than enough to guess. I suggest you stop before I decide to break the rules also."

After a moment of speechlessness, Greg replied hoarsely. "And what are your rules?"

The voice laughed harshly. "You see, Mr. Sanders. This is exactly why I like you. Your cheekiness is somewhat charming. Okay, I'll tell you my rules: I can monitor you in any way that pleases me, and I won't kill any of your friends unless you give me good reason. Also, I'm going to stick to my own timeline, unless you or one of your friends interferes."

Greg was busy committing all of the stalker's words to his memory, and he knew that the longer he kept the guy talking, the more he would learn. "Are these rules set by you?"

"Who else?"

Greg searched for something to say. "So what's to stop you from changing them?"

The voice laughed again. "Absolutely nothing."

"And what's this timeline of yours?" Greg asked.

"I'm not a suspect you can question, you know," the voice said, clearly amused. "The timeline is for someone else's benefit."

"Yours?"

"Mine also,"

Greg's mind was racing. "So somebody else knows about this?"

The voice's harsh laughter grated on Greg's mind. "Oh yes, somebody else has known about this for a long time. They won't tell you, though."

Greg's mind jumped from person to person. "Are you going to call them also?"

There was a pause. "I think this conversation's gone a little too far, Mr. Sanders. I might let you know, though, that your mother isn't really coming."

"What?" Greg asked, his voice hushed. Was the stalker threatening his mother?

"Oh nothing like that," the voice replied. "The tickets she thought she won were fake. I just wanted you to be able to hear her voice again."

A chill went down Greg's spine.

"Oh yes, and Mr. Stokes is back," the line clicked, and Greg stood staring at the table for a second before something occurred to him.

He dashed back to the doorway and ran straight into Nick. Ignoring the man's noise of surprise, he pushed past him into the hallway just in time to see a person disappear around a corner.

**Mwehehehehehehehehe yeah... okay, reviews will be appreciated! (More than that...)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Yeah... not too long of a wait this time, thanks for all the reviews guys! you brighten my day :)**

**Chapter 15**

There was the sweet taste of triumph in his mouth on the way to Nick's. Greg had finally seen his stalker. Up till now, his stalker had stayed out of sight, but now, Greg had seen him, and that knowledge gave him a taste of satisfaction. His stalker wasn't hidden anymore. Something inside him clicked when he saw the person disappear around the corner. He knew for sure that someone was following him now, and he knew that person obtained some of his information by first hand observation instead of cameras and microphones.

Greg felt as if he was making some minute sort of progress in his investigation against this monster. He'd successfully secured someplace safe where he could store his life and keep it off the stalker's word file, and he'd found the camera and microphone. They were baby steps, but they were steps nevertheless.

His progress was also mental, however. The decision he'd made in Nick's car earlier was confirmed with his sighting of the stalker. He wasn't facing something impossible. His stalker was human, and Greg knew that humans made mistakes. He couldn't help but smile, and Nick gave him a strange look from the driver's seat.

"Happy?"

Greg grinned. "That apartment was a hellhole. It feels good to be out," he lied. There was some truth to his statement. He'd never really liked living there, but it had been the only home he could afford when he moved to Vegas.

Nick laughed. "That's exactly how I felt after I moved out of my old apartment complex."

"It was the only thing in my price range when I first moved here," Greg told him.

"Yup, that was me too. In a family with six siblings, you don't get much privacy… or spending money," Nick replied. "Living in an apartment complex all by myself was my idea of heaven."

"Six siblings? That's intense, I don't even have one."

"Only child?" Nick looked at him closely. "Hey, at least you had your own room; I always had to share with my brother,"

"It gets lonely sometimes," Greg replied.

Nick nodded. "Yeah, living alone was a big difference; I've always had a lot of people living with me."

Greg frowned. "I think the only time I've lived with other people was in college."

"Stanford, right?"

Greg nodded. The car was quiet for a while. "Hey Nick?"

"Hmm?"

"You know when you were walking back to my apartment after you went to get your case?" Greg asked, something nagging at his mind.

Nick looked at him, grinning. "You mean when you ran into me?"

Greg nodded. "Did you see anyone standing on the other side of the balcony?"

Nick's grin disappeared. "Not that I remember, why?"

"No reason," Greg said, trying to sound normal, but his mind was racing again. If Nick didn't notice the person, then they would have had to be hidden, or somebody who didn't look out of place, someone who blends in… _The cleaning lady_. Greg's eyes widened.

Nick was still watching him curiously.

"No servicemen or anything?"

Nick frowned. "I don't think so," he replied. "What's going on? You think someone was in the apartment before us?"

Greg shook his head. "No, I'm trying to figure out who could have ripped up my carpet."

"Oh," Nick said. "You could tell your manager that it wasn't you and ask her to investigate."

"Yeah? So she can call the cops on me?"

"Oh yeah," Nick said. "Well, we could investigate ourselves."

"We don't have a key any more." Greg reminded him.

Nick frowned. "So you're just going to let it go?"

Greg sighed. "I guess so," he said. "Hey, can we stop by the lab afterwards so I can pick up my car?"

Nick nodded as they pulled into his driveway. "You can have the guest room," he said, leading Greg down the hallway.

Greg watched him leave and looked around his room, accustoming himself to the new setting. It felt good to be doing something to thwart his stalker. He knew that sleep would probably not come easily still, but he began moving stuff into his room with some peace of mind.


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay, I got only one thing to say for this chappie... Remember I wrote this before the season finale, so it could be anyone, now i'm not saying that this chapter gives away my final decision on who that killer should be... Anyways, I've probably said to much right there, but enjoy! Mucho thanks to my awesome reviewers of last chapter!**

**Chapter 16**

Archie knew Catherine was lying the moment she spoke to him. He'd worked with these people long enough to know when they weren't telling the truth, and if his intuition wasn't enough, the conversation he'd walked in on definitely was.

"_I know, but… Gil, what if he's already dead in the miniature? What if he's not supposed to die in that room?"_

It sounded to him like they had a whole new crime scene, and one that hadn't happened yet.

"_I guess I sound really… I'm not giving up, Gil. I'm just… The miniature doesn't make any sense. There are so many… inconsistencies."_

Giving up? What would they be giving up on? Archie knew for a fact that they'd wrung those miniatures until the last of the water had fallen out in one tiny half-drop of information: bleach. Why would they hide it from him though? Did they suspect someone in the lab?

Consumed with curiosity, Archie made his way down the hall to the evidence room that Grissom and Catherine had holed up in again. Maybe that's why he hadn't seen much of nightshift lately: they were all working on the new model.

The two of them weren't in the evidence room at the moment, and the blinds were drawn. Archie tried the door, but it was locked. Looking furtively around behind him, he unlocked the door with his key and slipped inside. It was standard courtesy around the lab that a locked door meant whatever inside was confidential, and Archie felt somewhat like Hodges, sneaking around in Grissom's business, but he was curious, and he assured himself that he would do nothing but look.

These miniatures intrigued him. Whoever made them devoted infinite attention to them with dangerous artistic focus. With a chill, he realized that it was much like the job he did. He spent hours looking at one video trying to pick out teeny details that could make a huge difference. This person spent many more hours creating these details that Archie so searched for.

The miniature before him was shocking. Archie saw that it had already been partially taken apart by Grissom and Catherine, but it was just as detailed as the other four, and instead of only one room, there were three. He leaned in to examine it, eyes widening as he saw the office room. It was identical to Grissom's. His eyes roved over the evidence room and fell on the little supply closet. There was blood on the floor, and Archie was sure a little body had once lain there. On the table next to the miniature was a little body, its chest cut open, and the foam inside spilling out slightly.

Archie frowned. He wondered if the team knew who the body was. It looked like they'd done a miniature autopsy already, but there were no labels. Suddenly, he heard the door being unlocked.

He whirled around, searching his mind for some sort of excuse to give Catherine and Grissom, but instead of the two supervisors, it was Hodges who entered. "Hodges!" Archie exclaimed, relieved. "What are you doing in here?"

Hodges gave him a strange look. "What are _you_ doing in here?"

The man walked around him to look at the miniature. "Oh my god," Hodges said. "Another one. Why hasn't Grissom told me about it?"

Archie looked at him, annoyed but tolerant. Hodges got on his nerves sometimes, but Archie had learned to live with him. After months of working with a different personality, he'd learned to accept it as friendship. "Well, for one, you sound like a teenage girl, and for two, you aren't Grissom's best friend, you know."

Hodges looked up at him, his expression neutral. "Oh," he said sarcastically. "Thanks for pointing that out. Did you know about this?"

Archie shook his head. "No, I suspect night shift is trying to keep it quiet."

Hodges looked up at him. "Huh… you want to help them out a bit?" He asked, face lighting up.

"Didn't Grissom tell you not to do it again?" He said, catching Hodge's arm as he reached for the scope.

Hodges looked up, disappointed. "I found the bleach, didn't I?"

"Yes, but if Grissom is trying to keep it quiet, then we probably shouldn't interfere," Archie said patiently.

"You came in," Hodges said accusingly.

"Yeah, and they're probably going to be back any minute," Archie remembered, looking at the closed door as if he expected them to walk in.

Hodges, surprisingly, acquiesced and locked the door behind them as Archie led the way out. However, once in the halls, Hodges turned to him and walked with him back up the corridor to his lab. "So you haven't heard about it?"

Archie shook his head. "No, I walked in on Catherine talking to someone and I kind of guessed about it."

"How long have they had it?"

Archie shrugged. "Why are you so interested?"

Hodges stopped. "You'd think Grissom would confide in me after that bleach thing I found out."

"You haven't got Grissom in your pocket, you know. The man has a mind of his own. The team's probably got a good reason for keeping it secret. What if they suspect someone who works in the lab?" Archie said plainly.

"Someone in the lab?" Hodges asked sounding surprised. He was quiet for a moment. "That's a scary thought. Even the lab isn't safe,"

Archie nodded. "I say we let them do their thing. Night Shift probably won't be very happy if we interfere with them, so let's pretend we never found out about it, alright?"

Hodges nodded slowly. "I wonder who it could be."

Archie grinned at him and stepped into his lab. "Carry on like that and people will think it's you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Another somewhat short chapter... the next two are the longest ones in the fic though... er... two of the longest ones I think... Anyways, if the timeline seems a bit screwed up on this, sorry, I had to think about it a lot, and then when it didn't make sense, I just ignored it... anyways, Thank you to all my reviewers and enjoy!**

**Chapter 17**

Four Days later

Now they had exactly two weeks. Grissom was nervous, to say the least, and it felt strange. He was rarely nervous. The miniature still yielded little that was helpful. Many of the pieces still didn't fit. With every new case he got, he searched it meticulously for connections to the miniatures, but nothing appeared. The little evidence room clearly held evidence from some other case, and Grissom could make nothing of the little pictures that were marked as evidence. They were all just blurs of color. The blood in the little sample jar in the little evidence room was fake, so he had no DNA to work with, and the tiny fibers in the little evidence bag were also fake, nothing more than little lines drawn into the little plastic bag.

He knew Catherine was in a similar state. They'd both been stressed, short with the rest of the team and irritated at small things. Hodges, harmless as Grissom usually saw him, succeeded in annoying him the other day. He'd been trying to process evidence in the lab, and Hodges had been intent on asking stupid questions. If there was something Grissom couldn't stand, it was stupid questions. Hodges was being terribly direct about something, but it escaped Grissom, and he'd left before Hodges could question him further.

The rest of the team was still ignorant about the new miniature case, but even they seemed to be drifting away from him and Catherine. He reassured himself every day that it was necessary to keep such things hidden, and he knew that Catherine was doing the same, but it wasn't enough. Greg was just as ignorant as the others, and it made Grissom anxious to see him so. If Greg at least had some knowledge of the danger he was in, then there might be some way that they could avoid the threat that the miniature held, but every time Grissom considered warning him, the killer's message would hold him back.

He was almost sure now that the killer was someone inside the lab, and that was even more reason for him and Catherine to keep the model hidden. There were a few people that he eliminated immediately from his list of suspects: the whole team, Greg, of course, Archie and even Hodges. Grissom didn't know if it was his emotional attachment to them that out ruled them as suspects, but something told him it was not someone that close to him.

His mind often returned to the custodian theory. It made sense, and it took the blame away from anyone he was close to. He'd taken to noticing the cleaning people around the lab, and now that he did so, he realized that there were a lot more than he remembered. They seemed to be everywhere he turned. Was everyone really as blind sighted as he used to be? These workers were people, not servants or slaves that could be ignored. When his mind was thinking on this track, he had to remind himself that he was looking at them as suspects, not objects of pity. Once or twice, he'd even caught himself asking them for directions just to hear them talk. They all gave him odd looks when he did so, and acted surprised, as if he shouldn't be talking to them.

His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Annoyed, Grissom flicked it open. "Grissom,"

"Hey, I need you and the team down here ASAP," Brass said, sounding harried.

"What happened?"

"Our bomb threat turned out to be a little more than a threat," Brass replied. "The bomb squad is clearing it right now, but I want you guys here before Ecklie learns about it: you're more efficient, and Ecklie doesn't seem like he's in a very good mood lately."

"Brass, half of my team left already. Shift just ended," Grissom said, slightly annoyed. He was irritated with Ecklie as well, and he'd been calling in his team a lot more than usual.

"I know," said Brass apologetically. "But I'm determined to have you guys work this one. We got another bomb threat about an hour after this one went off."

Grissom sighed. "Okay, I'll call them,"

"Thanks, see you in a bit," he rattled off an address that Grissom scribbled down on a piece of paper at his desk before hanging up.

"Hey Catherine," he yelled at her as she passed by. "Can you call Warrick for me? We've got a bomb scene to process."

She turned and scowled. "A bomb scene? Brass just call you? Why can't he ask Ecklie to take care of it for us?"

Grissom shrugged, not really wanting to relay Brass' reasoning to her. She sighed. "Alright then,"

Grissom called Sara first. "Hey Sar',"

"Hey," she replied sleepily. "What's up? Are you coming home soon?"

"No, Sara. Brass called and he needs us on a case," Grissom informed her.

He heard her groan. "What kind of case?"

"A bomb and another bomb threat,"

"Oh great, I'll be right in."

"Thanks," he hung up and dialed Nick's cell.

"Gris?" Nick answered, his voice slurred with sleep. "Please don't tell me I have to come in,"

"Actually, I need both you and Greg," Grissom answered. Everyone had heard about Greg's eviction, and they all knew the kid was staying with Nick.

Nick's reaction was much the same as Sara's. "Ugh, what kind of case?"

He repeated his words to Sara.

Nick sounded awake. "A bomb threat? We haven't had one of those in a while,"

"Good, at least someone isn't going to be ready to murder me when they get in," Grissom commented sourly.

Nick didn't reply, and Grissom guessed he was waking Greg up, for he could hear sounds of groggy protest in the background. "Greggo isn't happy, but we'll be there in a bit," Nick replied finally.

Grissom hung up and met Catherine in the parking lot. She looked at him resignedly, tossing him her keys. "Let's take mine," she said.

Grissom nodded, yawning. This was going to be a long day.


	18. Chapter 18

**Okay... So this is one of the longest chappies of the whole story so i hope you guys like that... um... it might be a little boring, but it was necessary to the rest of the fic, so bear with me... Anyways! Reviewers make my day, and for those of you who asked about the bomb... you'll find out in a bit... patience is a virtue my lovelies... :) I'll be updating a lot quicker because the last couple chappies of this fic move pretty fast and I want you guys to feel that... anyways! Bye!**

**Chapter 18**

Greg was surprised that Nick even had to wake him up. It was the first time for a long time that he'd actually been able to sleep without dreaming. The one time he'd been able to get good rest, he was awakened after only three hours.

"Nick!" he said, annoyed.

"Gris' wants us to come in,"

"What for?" Greg groaned, rolling over.

"Bomb scene and subsequent threat,"

Greg closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the dark behind his eyelids.

"Greg!"

"Okay okay, I'm awake," He said, tossing the covers off and swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

He was still yawning when they got to the scene, and was spacing out though half of Brass' briefing on the case. His mind didn't want to focus properly. The past four days had been like something out of heaven. His stalker hadn't called or bothered him, and Greg got the distinct feeling that his stalker was getting frustrated. Greg had found another microphone, once again hidden in his vest, and he'd taken to bringing his vest home with him. He still put his 'evidence' away in the little box in his locker, and there was no sign that his locker had been searched or broken into. Overall, Greg felt rather proud of himself for holding up emotionally. His only problem had been sleeping. For the past couple days, he'd gotten a couple hours here and there, but it always ended in him waking up from some sort of nightmare.

He shot Nick an annoyed look, thinking to himself that he could be sleeping instead of standing outside at a crime scene, but the older man was paying attention to Brass. With a sigh, Greg turned his attention to Brass also.

"… Got the other threat about an hour after this one went off…" Brass was saying. "There were only two people hurt in this one. Security managed to get everyone… well almost everyone out before the bomb went off."

"Who was hurt?" Greg asked, trying to bring his wayward attention back to what was happening.

"One of the security guards and the receptionist," he answered. "The bomb was planted in the back of the building, and it didn't affect the front or the top levels very much. It destroyed one of the storage rooms though. The security guard got hit by a stray piece of debris, and a box fell on the receptionist when she was trying to get out."

Nick was looking at the building curiously. "What kind of company is it?"

"Not really a company," Brass answered. "It's a collection of offices… lawyers, to be exact."

"Lawyers?" Catherine asked, raising her eyebrows. "And what was being stored in the room that was destroyed."

Brass shook his head. "We don't know yet,"

One of the bomb squad tapped him on the shoulder. "It's clear," he told him. "They still have to wear masks though,"

Greg sighed. Bombing cases always took a long time, and he knew he wasn't going to be going back to sleep anytime soon. "What about the threat?" he asked. Maybe he could somehow worm his way into working on that instead of on scene.

Brass looked at him as if he knew what he was thinking. "We've got a building, and a time. We're going to head over there and clear everyone out and then I'll call you guys and let you know what you can do."

"Thanks, Brass," Grissom said as they were handed their face masks.

The team set about collecting bits of bomb and debris, and Greg had more time to think. He barely listened as his team members began hypothesizing. Instead, his mind had wandered back to the little cardboard box in his locker. By now, he knew that it was too much to hope for that the stalker had decided to back off. He hadn't paid for the carpet with the money given to him by his stalker, and he hadn't ripped up the checks. Instead, those went in the little cardboard box with the old cell phone he'd used when his other one was 'missing'.

He'd thought about the phone call many times, and each time, it sent a chill down his spine followed by a little twinge of triumph. His mom had called a day later to say that the tickets were indeed fake, and she'd passed it off as some sort of scam. Greg had let her believe that. That particular phone conversation had been painful, for Greg remembered the words of his stalker and had tried very hard to keep a waver of fear out of his voice. He had not heard from her since, but he resisted the urge to call her. If she suspected something was wrong, she would be more persistent than his stalker.

There also remained the mystery of who else knew about everything. He hadn't talked to Archie about it since and had left the other microphone he found in his cardboard box without saying anything, and he avoided the subject with Nick. He couldn't think of anyone else on his team who might know. Often, his mind jumped to Grissom and Catherine, but they would let him know if he was being threatened, wouldn't they? He couldn't think of one person on his team who wouldn't tell him if they knew anything. Maybe it was someone in the lab. Archie already knew, and Archie would have confided in him if he found anything else out. Mia was a ridiculous possibility; he hadn't even talked to her in the past week, and she was the same person as ever. Hodges was a possibility; he had the arrogant personality that would drive him to keep it secret and try to riddle it out himself. Hodges, however, thought he was sitting in Grissom's lap, and he would tell Grissom anything to gain his praise, especially if one of Grissom's team members was being threatened. Whenever he found himself trying to figure out who else knew, Greg always ended up thinking in circles, so he usually diverted his train of thought to something else.

He'd considered the stalker's 'rules' before also. He was pretty sure those were just to frustrate and taunt him, but Greg got the feeling that the stalker was telling the truth. He didn't think he was in any immediate danger, and in a way, he found he was grateful for the bomb case. If he _was_ in immediate danger, then being around his friends all the time would keep him safe.

The sound of a hushed argument brought him out of his thoughts and back to his work. He glanced around and saw Sara and Grissom arguing about something. Greg couldn't help but over hear some of it before he could walk away.

"Gil, you haven't been… look… I just want to be part of this," she was saying in a hushed voice.

"Sara, I'm busy, okay? Can we talk about this later?" Grissom looked around nervously.

"No! I want to get this straightened out," Sara insisted.

Grissom gave her a hard look. "Not here, back at the lab maybe, but we've got work to do," he told her shortly.

Greg moved away to give them privacy, feeling somewhat guilty that his mind was trying to puzzle out their argument. Was there something going on between them? Greg had seldom heard Grissom talk like that.

"Hey Greg,"

He turned around to see Warrick picking his way through the debris towards him. "Brass wants you, me and Sara on the other bomb. It went off a couple minutes ago."

Greg nodded and glanced around at Sara, who'd looked up when her name was mentioned. She gave Grissom a meaningful look before coming to join them. "Did Brass say anything else?"

Warrick nodded and started leading the way back to the front of the office building. "They were able to clear everyone out before it went off, and it was like this one: contained in a storage room."

"So what's the bomber trying to tell us?" Greg asked.

Warrick shrugged. "Maybe he's not trying to tell us anything, just trying to destroy things that might hurt him. I wonder if he knows that all companies keep back up."

The other building wasn't far away, and it turned out to be a little known company that made CD cases. Brass briefed them on the case, and as soon as the scene was cleared, they made their way to the little storage room and began collecting evidence.

It was almost eight in the morning when they'd finished; Greg was exhausted. He caught himself stumbling on the way to the car, and Warrick looked at him, concerned. "Want me to drive, Greg?"

Greg nodded gratefully and handed him the keys to his Denali. "Thanks,"

Just as they were about to drive off though, Brass motioned for Warrick to roll down the window. "The press is all over this," he said when Warrick had let the window down. "Now, we haven't gotten another threat so far, but don't let the press know anything, okay? Nothing. We want to keep this quiet until we unmask this bomber. If the press knows something, then the bomber could find out easily, okay? We want to keep him in the dark as to our investigation, alright?"

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, we know, Brass. We'll let you know if anything shows up."

Back at the lab, it was all Greg could do to prevent himself from falling asleep at the scope. He made a beeline for the break room, his mind screaming for coffee. Grissom was there, apparently cornered by Sara again, but Greg found he wanted coffee more than privacy for his co-workers. They stopped talking as soon as he entered, but Greg pretended not to notice. "Long night?" he asked innocently, pouring himself coffee and downing half of it in one gulp.

Grissom raised his eyebrows at him. "Long night," he agreed. "Did you guys find anything at the other bomb site?"

It was Greg's turn to raise his eyebrows. He glanced at Sara, whose expression was unreadable. "Not much," he said. "Warrick is putting the bomb together, and I'm going to drop the surveillance tape off with Archie."

As soon as he left, he saw Sara turn back to Grissom, but Greg dismissed it and made his way down the hallway to Archie's lab. He'd been avoiding Archie lately, unwilling to put the man in any more danger, but now he didn't have that alternative.

"Hey Greg," Archie greeted him, glancing at the CD in Greg's hand. "Another one?"

Greg shook his head. "No, this is the surveillance from the bomb case we just got. It's from the second building. Do you think you could look it over for me?"

Archie nodded. "Any word from your stalker?"

Greg paused on his way out. The question was unavoidable. "No," he lied. "I think he's backing off," he could feel Archie's eyes boring into the back of his head, so he left quickly.

Greg spent the rest of the time putting together the bomb with Warrick and Sara while the others worked on the other bomb. Time passed way too slow for his liking, and with each piece he examined, he found himself longing for coffee again. It was Sara who first gave in to her sleepiness though. "You guys ready for a coffee break?"

Greg and Warrick both looked up gratefully. "Yeah, sounds good," Warrick responded, and they trooped off to the break room.

Greg had barely gotten there, however when his phone rang and showed up as Archie's number. They hurried over to Archie's lab and gathered around his chair, looking expectantly at the screen. Archie looked somewhat annoyed that there were other people there too, and he gave Greg a significant look that he didn't return. "I found a UPS guy entering the building at 9:04 am. The bomb went off in the early afternoon, yes?"

Greg nodded.

"Well the same guy went to reception, dropped the package off and signed his name on the sign in sheet before giving it to the receptionist." Archie explained. "The receptionist then handed it off to one of the workers and the worker goes down to the storage room and puts it away. That was at 10:58."

"Well, the bomb went off at around 12:45," Warrick said slowly. "The bomb must have been timed. Were there any other packages to go in the room?"

Archie shook his head. "Nope, that was the only one."

"Did you get a view of any of their faces?"

Archie sighed. "Well, I got the UPS guy and his name, and the receptionist obviously, but the worker seemed to avoid the cameras."

Warrick frowned. "Something doesn't fit. Either it was the worker, who put the package where it wasn't supposed to be, or it was the receptionist who told him to put it there. Or it was someone who sent the package and trusted it to get down there."

Archie also frowned. "What time did you guys come in this morning?"

"Well, Catherine called me at 10:30," Warrick answered. "We were at the first scene for about two hours before Brass called us to go to this one."

"What time did the other one go off?"

"About 10:15 am," Warrick paused. "So the suspect must have planted the first bomb and went on to plant the second one immediately afterwards."

Archie grinned. "Find me the other surveillance tape and I'll see if I can make a connection for you."

"Thanks Archie," Warrick said.

"Greg?" Archie questioned as Greg followed them out the door.

Greg turned around. "See you later, Archie," he said after a pause.

Warrick was checking his phone when Greg caught up with them. "Meeting in the break room," Warrick informed him, and they changed their course and turned around in the direction of the break room.

Grissom, Nick and Catherine were all in the break room when they got there, and to Greg's surprise, so was half of Ecklie's team, including Ecklie. Day shift was sitting on one side of the table and Night was on the other, both not talking and looking the other way. Greg couldn't help it, he stifled a laugh.

"The tension is so great, I can barely stand it," he said jokingly.

Night shift glared at him, Grissom and Catherine gave him disapproving looks, but Nick grinned at him. "Ecklie's putting half his team on this case with us," Grissom explained.

Greg tried to avoid groaning.

"I want something made clear," Ecklie said, sitting forward. "I won't put up with any cheeky comments from your team," he said, looking at Greg pointedly.

Greg nodded mutely. Ecklie did have the power to fire him, after all. Ecklie looked at him, satisfied, but Grissom sat forward also. "And we won't stand for unnecessary comments against my team," he said, eyes hard as ice.

The break room was silent for a moment, the air almost crackling with controlled anger on both sides. "Shall we review the case?" Grissom suggested lightly, still not taking his eyes away from Ecklie.

The next few minutes were spent going over collected evidence for the benefit of Ecklie's team. Greg, Warrick and Sara relayed what they learned from Archie, and Grissom, Catherine and Nick went over what they'd learned. The whole time, Ecklie watched Grissom with an expression that didn't hide anything. Occasionally, he glanced at Greg, who ignored his gaze.

Afterwards, all of them went to their assigned tasks, and once again, Greg tried to avoid falling asleep as he worked with Warrick in sorting out bomb pieces. "Hey, Greg,"

Greg looked up, yawning. "Hmm?"

"That one doesn't go there," Warrick pointed out.

"Oh,"

"You want to go get another cup of coffee. You look exhausted." Warrick said.

Greg laughed. "I think we all are."

Warrick grinned and they made their way back to the break room. Greg looked at his cell phone for the time. He and Warrick had been processing for two hours. Coffee felt great, and almost at once, Greg felt awake again. He was about to ask Warrick if they should go back to their processing, but Warrick was looking at something in the hall.

Greg followed his gaze and saw Brass walking towards them, wearing an obvious expression of anger. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" Brass half-yelled.

"What?" Warrick asked. Greg was just as bewildered as he.

"Look at this!" Brass turned on the TV in the break room angrily.

A sophisticated looking reporter was speaking, and Greg's eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. Behind her was the bomb scene that Greg and the team had just processed. "Authorities have found evidence of a package that was brought into the building earlier this morning. The crime lab believes that they might have a suspect: the receptionist of the second building."

Warrick and Greg stared at each other before looking back at Brass, whose expression demanded an explanation.


	19. Chapter 19

**Alright... things will start to get interesting in this chappie, I promise you... and I think you'll find out why I put in the bomb case... **

**Queen Emily the Wise of Narnia: (Awesome sn by the way!) so... to answer your questions: The bleach is the only common factor they found in all of the miniature crime scenes... Hodges found it actually... As for the 'Greg killed someone' thing... there was an episode where a bunch of teeenagers were beating up tourists and Greg saved one of thier victims but ran one of the kids over as he did so... and then they dragged him out and beat him up too... hm... and I'd suggest looking up the abbreviations on wikipedia since I don't know all of them myself... **

**Anyways, Reviewers: You guys are amazing!**

**Chapter 19**

They had a rat.

That was the best way to put it. Somebody was leaking information to the press. Warrick sat in the break room wearily. Grissom had called a meeting after Brass had let him know. Night shift immediately suspected Day shift, and Day shift immediately pointed fingers at Night shift. It was the way of things, and at this rate, they weren't going to get anything done. They'd gathered everyone who knew about the surveillance tape evidence. Archie was also there, standing awkwardly off to the side.

Warrick smiled at him comfortingly. The man was probably pretty nervous. Once Grissom and Ecklie finally agreed on a truce, the first person they would look at was Archie, for everyone had left their evidence with him.

"Tiring, isn't it?" Warrick commented lightly.

Archie nodded. "I'm pretty sure we don't bicker like this all the time,"

Warrick laughed. "Hey Archie, did you leave your evidence unattended at any time?"

Archie shook his head. "No, and that wouldn't have mattered either. The only way someone could have found out is if they were listening to our conversation. It took me an hour to process that stuff, and I didn't leave my office at all."

Warrick sighed. "This is going to go on forever," he said, watching Ecklie and Grissom argue.

With some surprise, he saw Catherine step in. "Okay, that's enough of that," she said firmly. "We aren't going to get anything done. Now, whoever talked to the press—"

Ecklie glared at her. "It wasn't any of us! So there's only—"

"No," she said. Warrick could tell it was all she could do to keep her voice level. "We've got to be processing right now. If we get another bomb threat and we're stuck here arguing like little kids, what good will that do?" She demanded.

Ecklie was looking at her with a look somewhere between rebellion and wounded superiority. Grissom's expression was neutral, but his eyes were burning. Brass had been standing on the sidelines, looking apprehensive, and Catherine gave him a reproachful look for not interfering before.

Brass nodded. "Catherine's right," he said. "We can't sit around and argue, but next time, keep your evidence amongst yourselves."

Warrick fell into step with Nick as they left the break room. His friend was scowling deeply. "You okay, Nick?"

Nick nodded. "This is just going to make our job harder, you know," Nick pointed out.

"You think its Ecklie's team too?" Warrick asked.

"He's stupid enough to do something like this," Nick replied.

"Yeah, but he doesn't deny what he does. He tosses it in our faces just to see us get pissed," Warrick said.

"Who else would it be? Archie?" Nick asked.

Warrick shook his head. "I don't think so. Archie wouldn't do something like that,"

"So who else? If it's not any of us, then who could it be? Someone who was listening?"

"Possibly,"

"I didn't see anyone listening on our break room meeting."

Warrick thought for a moment. "Yeah, and I didn't notice anyone when Archie was explaining everything to us."

They fell silent, stumped. "Well, I'll see you later," Warrick said, waving goodbye to his friend when he'd gotten back to the evidence room he and Greg were set up in.

Greg looked up when he entered and busied himself with his work again. Warrick looked at him closely. A week or so ago, he'd notice Greg acting a little strange, but he'd dismissed that after a while of Greg acting normally again. However, it looked as if Greg hadn't gotten any sleep in ages. There were dark circles under his eyes and almost every other second, the man was yawning. "Hey man, maybe you should go home and get some sleep," Warrick said, moving to help Greg in his sorting.

Greg shook his head. "Nah, Ecklie'd probably fire me,"

Warrick frowned at him. "You look really bad,"

"Thanks," Greg said sarcastically.

"No Greg, I mean it. Nobody can work like that."

"Like what?"

"You look like a walking corpse, Greg. When was the last time you slept?" Warrick persisted.

"Before Grissom called us in,"

"Should I rephrase my question? How much sleep have you gotten in the past week?" Warrick asked, voice taking on a hard note.

Greg looked up at him and sighed resignedly. "A couple hours maybe."

"A couple hours? Greg, you can't even go one _day_ on 'a couple hours'," he said, alarmed.

"I've gone seven,"

Warrick frowned at his sarcasm. "Greg, go home and sleep,"

"What for? I get back and Ecklie'll fire me on the spot," Greg pointed out.

"Forget about Ecklie, Greg. I'll explain everything to Grissom. He can keep you in a job," Warrick told him.

"'A job'? I like my field job, Warrick."

"Okay then, how about this. If you mess up this case because you're tired, then Ecklie's going to take you out of the field anyways."

Greg paused and looked up at him. "I can't just leave!" he protested.

Warrick gave him a piercing look. "Greg, we've got nine people on this case,"

"Eight people and one rat," Greg corrected. "I still just can't leave. I mean, everyone else is tired too."

"Yeah, but we're not on the verge of collapse," Warrick said. "I saw you back there at the scene. You almost fell asleep on your feet. You can't do this, Greg."

He could tell Greg wanted to go home.

"Let us take care of Ecklie for you okay? You go home and get some rest," he said insistently.

Greg nodded slowly. "Okay, but only one shift."

Once Greg had left the room, Warrick took out his phone to call Grissom. He wasn't exactly sure how Grissom would react. His supervisor had also been acting strangely. "Hey Warrick, did you find anything?" Grissom answered.

"No, I called to tell you that I sent Greg home," Warrick said.

"You what?"

"I sent Greg home. The kid looks ready to collapse, Gris'. He told me he's only gotten 'a couple hours' of sleep in the past week." Warrick told him.

There was a pause. "Did he say why?"

Warrick frowned. That was a strange question to ask. "No, I expect he's just been working hard. You have been calling us in every two seconds after all," he couldn't help but make his tone slightly accusatory.

He heard Grissom sigh. "Ecklie's going to want to know why," he said.

"I'll deal with Ecklie if you want me to, Gris'."

"No, that's alright. Greg does need sleep. I've seen him too; he doesn't look good," Grissom said. "Ecklie can fire you, but he can't do anything about me. I'll explain everything to him."

_Everything?_ Warrick thought. "Alright," he replied, not commenting on Grissom's choice of words.

Greg came back a shift later, and they worked as hard as they could until they got another bomb threat. It had been three days since the last bomb, and Night shift, along with half of day shift had wrung out everything they could from the first two bombs. They'd even started working on other cases as well to help out swing shift, which had been covering everything that the other half of day shift didn't work on.

They'd interviewed both the UPS guy who dropped the package off at both scenes and the receptionist at the second scene. At the first scene, the receptionist had not gotten the package, but instead, it had gone directly upstairs to one of the lawyers, who then put it in the storage room. Great suspicion fell on the UPS man and the lawyer, but they could prove nothing, and the UPS guy insisted that he was simply doing his job and got the two packages when he picked up his load in the morning.

The bombs themselves yielded little also. They were set with a timer that consisted of one of the generic alarm clocks available at every store, and both proved to be the same kind of bomb that any normal person could make with the right research and easily accessible tools.

By the time the next bomb threat came, tempers were running high between both teams. Ecklie and Grissom constantly got in arguments about how to go about working the case, Ecklie pretty much blew up like the bombs they were working with when he'd realized that Warrick had sent Greg home and that Grissom condoned that decision. Grissom pointed out that Ecklie didn't find out until a day later and there was no harm done, but now Ecklie was furious at both Grissom and Greg. Somehow the blame had failed to fall on Warrick's shoulders, and he felt distinctly guilty about that. Greg, however, now looked rested and was back to his normal self.

The third bomb blew up a couple hours after the threat came, and they all pulled triples again before they could go home and rest. It once again destroyed the storage room of an office building, but so far nobody could connect the three companies. It occurred to them many times that the person planting the bombs was doing so for fun, and all were disturbed by this conclusion, but nobody could prove it.

Before he knew it, a week and a half had passed since the first bomb went off. By now, all the fuss about the third bomb had died down, but they were all hard at work on the case of the fourth bomb that had gone off in a building not far from the crime lab. It had been two days since the fourth bomb had gone off, and the sparks were now flying higher between the two teams, especially between Ecklie and Greg. Ecklie seemed determined to find a reason to fire him, and Grissom kept stepping in angrily. It didn't help that once again, somebody had leaked information to the press.

"Okay! Now, we have to find out who is doing this!" Ecklie practically screamed at them in the break room two days after the fourth bomb had exploded. "That was valuable information that could give the suspect who knows what kind of advantage!"

Grissom stepped in. He seemed to have taken Greg's title of 'walking corpse'. "Ecklie, that is _exactly_ what I called this meeting for. There's no way we can seal this investigation off from the press, and whoever is giving information is obviously not one of us."

Ecklie stepped forward, an expression of fury plastered on his face. "That's not true! It's not one of my team, and the only other people who know about this are _night shift_."

Warrick sighed. This was all very annoying. He knew the rest of the team were experiencing similar tensions amongst themselves and Warrick was doing his best to keep out of it. Catherine and Grissom seemed to be hiding something, and Sara, Nick and he were constantly guessing at what they were hiding. Warrick had no idea what it could be, but his trust in his supervisors was being challenged greatly. He still wasn't quite sure where Greg fit in. Greg was too consumed with his argument with Ecklie, and Archie seemed to hover on the edge of it somewhere, but Warrick could not for the life of him think why.

He barely listened as Ecklie and Grissom argued, and was almost surprised when everyone started heading out. He followed them out, but Nick grabbed his arm and pointed back in the break room. Warrick followed his gaze and saw Greg getting coffee while Ecklie lingered at the table, watching him angrily.

"Should we do something?" Nick asked nervously.

Warrick looked back in. "Greg can take care of himself," he said, but they stayed nevertheless.

Greg had been looking a little better in the past days, but Warrick still sensed something was bothering the kid. His arguments with Ecklie were different from that of Grissom and Ecklie. Greg did not argue directly, and his demeanor was usually respectively submissive, but in his eyes you could see rebellion.

"Sanders,"

Greg turned around. "Ecklie," he said curtly.

Ecklie advanced on him. "Sanders. I know who is leaking to the press," he said plainly.

Greg's face clearly said that he was not ready to play Ecklie's game. "Oh really? And who is that?"

"Don't be impertinent, Sanders," Ecklie said acidly. "Grissom might not see it, but I do. I've seen you hiding things in your locker and looking around furtively as you answer your phone. I'm not stupid, Sanders. The undersheriff will not be impressed."

Warrick and Nick looked at each other incredulously before Warrick looked back in the room. Greg's eyes had widened, but his expression wasn't angry; the only way Warrick could think to describe it was wary. "You…" Greg said, his voice cracking. "Are you…"

"Yes, I _am_ accusing you of giving information to the press," Ecklie said, eyes wild. "Not only can I _fire_ you for that, but I can also charge you with obstructing justice. I saw that vandalism charge by your old manager. I'm not amused, Mr. Sanders."

Greg looked like a deer in headlights. "I haven't told the press anything!" he said fiercely. "None of that will stand up in court unless you have proof, Ecklie. Please don't waste my time," he started to turn to leave, but Ecklie caught his arm and yanked him around.

"I can prove it; give me your phone," Ecklie snarled.

"Give me a warrant," Greg retorted, but his phone suddenly rang.

Ecklie's eyes gleamed. "Go on, answer it."

His eyes not leaving Ecklie's face, he reached for his phone and answered it. "Sanders," he said. There was a long pause. "What?" Greg's voice sounded almost fearful, and he looked at the doorway where Warrick stood with Nick, watching their exchange. "Wait! No…" There was another long pause. "He's… I can't…" He looked up at Ecklie and started to walk to where Ecklie couldn't hear him.

"You don't go anywhere, Sanders!" Ecklie said threateningly.

Greg looked at him helplessly and then back at Warrick and Nick, who walked back to where they were standing. Ecklie looked at them furiously. "What are you doing here?" he growled.

"Leave Greg alone," Nick said strongly, stepping between the two men.

Ecklie's eyes burned. "Mr. Stokes, this was a private conversation."

"So is his phone call,"

Ecklie looked at him angrily. Greg had walked out of hearing range and Warrick looked at him anxiously. The kid was talking very little, but his expression was not one that Warrick was used to seeing on his face. Greg looked fearful, and was glancing around looking for something.

Ecklie and Nick were having a heated exchange, but both stopped when Greg hung up. Ecklie sidestepped Nick and stood in front of Greg, seething. "I could arrest you right now,"

Greg looked shaken, but angry. "No," he said in a dangerous whisper. "You can't. That would be a violation of the fourth amendment."

With that, he left the break room, not glancing back at Nick or Warrick.


	20. Chapter 20

**I am SO sorry about the wait for this chapter! I got caught up in the whole potter mania that comes about because of the releasing of the last book and I didn't realize I'd left this alone for so long. I hope it was worth the wait though... the story is finally getting going guys... Enjoy! **

**Chapter 20**

_"Sanders,"_

_"Hello, Mr. Sanders. I just thought it would interest you to know that Mr. Stokes and Mr. Brown are listening to you and Mr. Ecklie argue right now. And yes, before you ask, I'll tell you that I can see you right now." _

_The voice was altered, there was no way that Greg could tell what gender the speaker was or who it was. His mind was racing. "What?" _

_The voice laughed. "You say that a lot, Mr. Sanders. I just thought I'd warn you. It wouldn't be fair to you if you let something slip without knowing your friends were listening. I might not play nice, but I do play fair… and by the rules. Goodbye Mr. Sanders." _

_"Wait!" Greg didn't feel like talking to Ecklie right away, and he wanted more information. _

_"Are you trying to order me around? I don't really appreciate that."_

_"No…" Greg said, eyes on Nick and Warrick who stood in the doorway. _

_The voice laughed again. "Greg Sanders, you must learn to tell the truth, or at least lie with some conviction. Perhaps this will make you feel a little better. What are you and Mr. Ecklie arguing about?" _

_So the stalker couldn't hear him at the moment. That meant he wasn't bugged and the stalker wasn't in the room. Surveillance maybe? He looked up at the camera before remembering that the stalker had asked him a question. "He's—"_

_"I'm not really interested, Mr. Sanders." The voice cut him off. "Why don't you go somewhere we can talk freely? I have some things to tell you, and you'll no doubt want to reply openly." _

_"I can't…" he said, looking at Ecklie. _

_"Just do it, your friends will stick up for you," The voice told him. _

_Somewhat to his consternation, the stalker was right. "What do you want?" Greg asked wearily when he was sure the others couldn't hear. _

_"Well, first, I wanted to congratulate you." _

_"On what?" _

_The stalker laughed. "Well you have been playing by the rules for the past couple days. If you hadn't been, you would definitely know by now. However, Mr. Johnson is putting himself in a very nasty position. I don't really like it that much, and I've considered putting a bullet in his head." _

_Greg started. "What? No! Don't! I haven't told him anything since," _

_"Oh I won't. I just thought I'd let you know. Also, I have _you _in a wonderful position. You might have guessed already that it was me leaking information to the press. It would be only too easy for me to frame you." _

_Greg looked back where Ecklie was arguing with Nick. "He'll fire me," he said. Hiding things from his stalker was a futile exercise. _

_"Oh, is that what you're talking about?" The stalker said more than questioned. "Well, this has been a nice little chat, Mr. Sanders. Goodbye for now." _

* * *

Greg was mad: more at Ecklie than the stalker. The stalker didn't seem threatening at the moment, only observant, and Greg could deal with that. Ecklie, however, was taking an offensive approach to him, and Greg had hated Ecklie with a passion for a while now, and 'hate' was not a word he used very often.

In an effort to calm his nerves, he'd left the crime lab and gone to the coffee shop not far from the lab, and was now seated at a table in the corner of the shop with his laptop on the table in front of him.

The stalker was still disturbing, but at the moment, Greg was more angry at Ecklie than he was frightened of his stalker. He still didn't have any idea of what the stalker's timeline was, but Greg got the feeling the end of the guy's timeline was drawing near. He shivered at that thought. The end of the stalker's timeline most likely meant the end of his life. Up till that phone call, the stalker had been silent in the past days. Greg was grateful for the stalker leaving him alone, but the calls were also somewhat useful to him. They not only gave him an insight into his stalker's mind, but they gave him warning of what was to happen.

Greg ran a hand through his hair. His sleep problem had returned, and Greg knew for a fact that Nick had noticed that. He was aware that Nick was very close at guessing at his problem. After all, the man had also had a stalker before, but Nick never confronted him about it, and Greg could only hope that Nick was still putting things together.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he opened Outlook express to check his email. Now that his nerves were a little calmer, there was an insistent nagging at the back of his mind: a strange sort of anticipation. Something was coming, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. He glanced around nervously, and his nerves started clamoring again.

His email popped up, and it told him he had six unread messages. Two were advertisements; one was from his friend that he hadn't heard from in ages, two were from Grissom about things he'd doubtless already heard about.

The other one, however, sent another chill down his spine. The sender was marked as 'your faithful friend', and it didn't have a subject line. Greg closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, taking a long drink of his gourmet coffee. He didn't want to open that email, knowing that his nerves would punish him again.

Trying to avoid from shaking, he opened it. There was no message, no pictures, no video. There was just a date and a place, and for some reason, Greg was more disturbed by that than the first package he'd received from the stalker. He was almost certain that the date in the message was the date the stalker had set for killing him. With a start, Greg realized it was two days from today. The address in the email was one he knew well: the address of the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

His mind was indeed punishing him. It would not stay in one place, and Greg didn't think he could hold a comprehensible conversation at the moment. So now he had a timeline. Could he use it to his advantage? Probably not. If he told anyone, he had no doubts that the stalker… no… the killer would kill them without second thought. If he tried to thwart the killer, he would die anyways. The web of fear that he'd been living trapped in just got tighter, and Greg could almost feel it against his skin. There was no way to break out, no way he could live without hurting someone else.

He'd already been in this position before. A dark alleyway, watching a man have the life beaten out of him, little to know was he that he would be the next one crawling on the floor like a desperate animal.

He jumped as his cell phone rang, and with relief and hesitation, he answered after seeing it was Nick's number. "N-nick," he couldn't keep a stutter out of his voice.

"Greg? You alright, man? You looked pretty pissed when you stormed out of here earlier," Nick's voice came, sounding concerned.

The sound of Nick's voice was comforting, and Greg regained minimal control of his mind. "I'm fine," he replied. It was the typical response, and both Greg and Nick knew it was just an opening line to a conversation.

"Where are you?" Nick asked.

"The café not far from the lab," Greg replied, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. "I needed time to cool down."

"It's cool, man. If Ecklie said that to me, I would have been pissed too. You coming back soon?" Nick asked.

Greg sighed. "I'm just leaving," he said, turning off his computer and getting up to leave. "Man, I thought it was Ecklie for a moment… I thought it was him…"

"What?"

Greg realized he was speaking his thoughts out loud. He'd thought Ecklie was his stalker for a moment back in the break room. "Maybe he is…" Greg continued before he could stop himself.

"Greg, what on earth are you talking about?"

Greg's mouth didn't obey his mind screaming to keep it shut. "This guy, he's been—" he cut himself off before he could say anything.

"He's been what? Greg, I know Ecklie's been hard on you, but he's not going to be able to do anything," Nick replied.

Greg sat in the driver's seat of his car, breathing deeply until he'd regained most of the control over his mouth and mind. "I know," Greg replied, voice finally level.

Nick was silent for a moment, and Greg was grateful for more time to collect himself. "Greg, I know we've had this conversation, but is there something I should know about? You sound really… anxious."

Greg almost laughed. Anxious was a mild way to put it. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. "My life is really complicated right now," he replied, proud of himself for giving a controlled answer.

Nick didn't buy it. "Greg?"

He sighed. "You know, bombs, sleep-deprivation and sta—eviction. Life is tough."

Nick answered in a hushed voice. "Bombs, sleep-deprivation and what?"

Greg berated himself silently as he turned into the lab parking lot. "Eviction," he repeated. "Hey Nick, I'm pulling in now, I'll see you in a bit." Without waiting for him to reply, he hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

He pulled into his usual parking spot and sat in his car for a moment longer. The initial shock at the killer's email had worn off, but now was the realization that he'd almost let slip his problem to one of his friends, one of the friends that his stalker/killer had threatened to kill.

Sighing, he got out of the car and closed the door, but just as he was going to lock it, he felt a hand grab his shoulder, followed by cold metal against the small of his back. A moment later, he heard the safety lock of the gun click. "Go on," said a female voice behind him. "Put your hands up. Don't worry; I turned off the surveillance cameras, no one will notice."


	21. Chapter 21

**cowers I'm very very very very sorry... so sorry that you can't imagine... yeah I know I'm saying that a lot in the begining of chapters, but this time it was because I was on a cruise ship... isolated from civilization for two weeks... we went to alaska... it was amazing and I met a bunch of cool people... anyways, before I go off on the life story of my cruise...**

**Things in this fic start speeding up... I'd suggest reading the last chappie again to refresh your memory if you haven't looked at it since I last updated... I guess this was the worst part of the fic to stop updating at, but I'm back, so it'll be all good now... anyways, enough of my rambling! Enjoy mucho!**

**Chapter 21**

_Stalker_

He understood now. Nick had noticed Greg acting strange the past few weeks, and now he understood. It all fit: Greg's anxiety, the apartment's carpet and subsequent eviction, Greg's lack of sleep, the mysterious phone calls and Greg's sudden out-of-characterness.

He sat in the lab waiting for Hodges to finish processing his evidence, his mind somewhat numb. Why didn't Greg tell anyone? How much control over Greg did his stalker have? Greg had sounded shaken when Nick had gotten off the phone with him. It came to him in a wave of fear. What if Greg was in danger?

The chair almost fell over as Nick stood up, not noticing Hodges' quizzical look. His phone was open and ringing before he even registered himself calling Warrick.

"Brown,"

"'Rick! I know why Greg is so out of sorts," Nick answered. "Rick, we've got to do something, he could be in danger right now."

The fear was much more real for him. He'd had a stalker before, had a gun pointed at his face by a man who'd lived in his attic for months. "What?"

"He's got a stalker. Rick, I was just on the phone with him, he didn't tell me outright, but he was definitely on the verge of telling me. I think he's being threatened, we've got to do something, Rick," Nick said frantically.

"Whoa whoa, slow down there. What's this?"

"Greg. He's got a stalker, Rick, and I think he's in danger. He won't tell me anything. His stalker's probably threatening him." Nick said impatiently.

"A stalker?" Warrick asked, his voice worried. "Where is he now?"

"He said he's pulling into the lab right now. Rick, what are we going to do?" Nick asked, agitated.

"He'll be safe at the lab; we'll look out for him when he gets here," There was a pause. "Finish processing your evidence and then meet me in Archie's."

Nick took a deep breath. "Okay," he said finally. "See you in a bit,"

* * *

30 minutes earlier 

Sara had left her jacket at Grissom's. They'd spent the night at her house the night before, but she remembered leaving her jacket at Grissom's earlier, so now she was on the way to his house to pick it up before going back to work.

Grissom had been acting strangely the past couple weeks, and he wouldn't talk to her about it. They rarely had secrets from each other, and now that Grissom did, she was worried. She didn't think he was having an affair, but she knew there was definitely something important that he was hiding. She was slightly worried, but also frustrated that he wouldn't confide in her. Did he think she couldn't handle it? That was a ridiculous thought; she could handle almost anything.

Shaking off her speculations, she opened his door and made her way down the hall to get her jacket. She liked his house. It was soothing somehow: big, airy and clean, a nice contrast to her house. She found her jacket with little trouble, but on the way back towards the front door, she frowned.

His office door was closed, and his office door was _never_ closed. Curious, she opened it and stepped inside. She immediately saw what he was trying to hide.

On his work table was laid another miniature crime scene: one she didn't recognize. Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she moved to stand over it. There were three little rooms, and her eyes roved over it, slowly building reasons to yell at Grissom. So this was what he and Catherine were working on while they were locked away in that evidence room. Why did he hide it from the rest of the team?

After a moment of angry consideration, she picked it up along with the manila folder on the side and carried it out to her car. Grissom had a lot to answer for, and she wasn't going to let him keep something like that hidden any longer.

It took her about ten minutes to drive back to the lab, her mind silently compiling a list of things to tell Grissom. She drove around the lab parking lot to where her reserved parking spot was, next to Greg's. There was a white utility van occupying her space, and she glared at it angrily. Stupid service people. Didn't they know not to park in reserved spaces?

Annoyed, she found another parking spot and, leaving the model in the back of her car, she marched into the lab, flashing her ID at the receptionist before going in search of Grissom.

* * *

Warrick hung up, disturbed. Nick's explanation certainly fit, and he remembered the Nigel Crane case, frowning. He didn't want that to happen to Greg, indeed, he didn't want that to happen to anyone. The only thing that kept him from immediately calling Greg to make sure he was okay was the fact that the kid was pulling into the crime lab at that moment according to Nick. 

He had evidence he wanted to run with Archie. After Greg had stormed out on Ecklie, Warrick and Nick had exchanged a few choice words with Ecklie and went off to continue working the fourth bomb case. They'd left Ecklie fuming in the break room, and Nick had gone off to call Greg, leaving his evidence with Warrick.

The picture they'd found wouldn't take long to process, and Warrick had promised to meet Nick in Archie's lab after he'd finished processing the other evidence he'd left with Hodges. They would confront Greg after they'd discussed it and tell Brass about it themselves if they had to.

Archie was sitting in his lab scanning something when Warrick entered. "Hey," he greeted the A/V tech.

Archie looked up and smiled. "Hi Warrick, got something for me?"

Warrick nodded. "It shouldn't take too long, could you do it now?"

Archie looked at the picture Warrick handed him. "You could do it yourself if you wanted, I'm not using the computer right now, and I was actually going to step out to use the men's room."

Warrick grinned. "Thanks, Archie."

He settled down at the computer as Archie left and scanned the picture in. As he waited for it to scan, he stared at the screen and opened My Computer to look at the scanned image.

Before he could click on the image, however, something else caught his eye: a folder labeled 'greg'. Frowning, he clicked on it, glancing behind him to make sure Archie wasn't returning.

His eyes widened as he realized what was inside. There was a windows media file, a collection of pictures, and a word file. Horrified, he opened them one by one. They were all pictures of Greg, and the media file was a music video composed of clips of what looked like Greg's everyday activities. His mind was in a state of denial as he opened the word file, which looked like a list of Greg's personal information.

It was Archie. His mind refused to believe it, but the file spoke for itself. It was Archie. Mind numb, he reached for his cell to call Nick, but he heard footsteps in the hall and turned around slowly to see Archie approaching.

After a moment's hesitation, he made a decision and waited for Archie to enter, his thoughts growing angrier by the second.


	22. Chapter 22

**Heya peoples... So here ya go w/ ch. 22... I um... kinda dramatized a lot of it... some of it I realize is a little unrealistic, but hey! it's fanfiction... um... yeah, so I'll be leaving on another vacation tomorow... so I probably won't be able to update until next monday or so... Anyways, happy reading!**

**Chapter 22**

Grissom knew there was something 'up' the moment she entered. Her expression was livid and Grissom almost flinched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Catherine look up at her, surprised. Grissom suddenly remembered where Sara had gone. She must have seen the miniature in his office. His heart sank, realizing that she was about to demand to know why he kept it hidden. There was no way they were going to keep this quiet anymore. It had finally come out, and Grissom knew immediately that this explanation was not going to be the end.

Sara was looking at Catherine, her expression somewhat consternated. She couldn't say anything in front of Catherine, for both of them knew it was against protocol to have a relationship with a colleague. Grissom knew better than to use Catherine to get himself out of his deserved reprimanding. "Catherine," he said quietly. "Do you think Sara and I could have a moment together?"

Catherine gave him a questioning look before nodding and leaving.

The evidence room was deadly quiet after the door closed. Sara's eyes clearly demanded an explanation, and Grissom knew there way no avoiding it. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

"That's not an explanation," she said, eyes steely.

He sighed. "So you saw it?"

She nodded. "It's in my car right now. Gil, how could you possibly think something like that would stay quiet? The whole team has a right to know about that! We've been working the miniatures as a _team_, Gil. Not as two self confident supervisors who think it's okay to keep the rest of us in the dark! I saw those miniatures. You can't keep something like that hidden! Your own office, your own office, Gil. None of us are safe, especially you. We could have all been working to solve it, but now we get a late start!"

Grissom looked at her curiously. "Did you look at it closely? Or look at the folder next to it?"

She shook her head. "I have that with me in my car also. I'm going to tell the rest of the team, Gil."

Grissom closed his eyes wearily and opened them again after a moment of silent consideration. "Sar', you don't know who the body is, do you?"

"What?" her tone wasn't confrontational anymore. "It's you, isn't it?"

"No Sara, the body in the miniature? It's Greg."

She started to say something, but her jaw dropped in shock. There was a long pause in which Grissom considered explaining everything, but she unstuck her throat before he could explain. "Greg? A-are you serious?"

Grissom nodded gravely. "We ran the blood on the miniature, and it came back as a perfect match to the sample of Greg's that we have on file."

She stared at him, speechless, and he continued before she could reply. "Catherine and I have been working on it for almost a month now. The killer gave us a time frame. That model is two days from now, and the killer left us a threat on the little evidence room wall. 'You tell anyone, he dies now.' That's why we couldn't tell any of you. If he had easy access to my office, then he has easy access to everything in this building. He could kill any of us, including Greg… without any trouble."

Sara's expression turned from one of anger, to understanding, to anxiety in the space of five seconds. Under normal circumstances, it would have been almost comical, but the weight of his words bore down on them, and she put her hands on her hips and started pacing. "What do we do now then? The killer could be listening to us at this very moment."

Before Grissom could respond however, the door was eased open again and Catherine stuck her head in. "Can I drop that evidence off with Archie, Gil? Ecklie just walked by and he doesn't look too happy. I don't want him to think we aren't doing anything."

Grissom nodded impatiently, turning back to Sara, but Catherine paused as she picked up her evidence. "Did… did you just tell her?"

Grissom looked back at her and nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Catherine, I think we're going to have to tell the rest of the team now. They're going to find out anytime now."

The room was silent for almost a minute. "W-we could be putting Greg in danger," Catherine said quietly.

"I already have," Grissom said, pointing to Sara. "We don't have a choice, Cath. The team has a right to know, and we only have two days left. Either we tie Greg to a chair and guard him ourselves or we have the whole team work on solving it."

"And what about Greg?"

Grissom shrugged. "We keep him under our close supervision, make sure he doesn't go anywhere without an escort."

Catherine nodded slowly. "Gil, if the killer is inside the building, then we're going to have a really hard time of this,"

Grissom nodded understandingly. "It's all we can do, Cath. We'll even have to call in Brass. Maybe we can… I don't know, interview all the suspects or something."

"_What _suspects?"

Grissom sighed. "Go drop off your evidence. Let's tie up our loose ends on the bomb case first and keep an eye on Greg before we break it to the rest of the team."

* * *

Meanwhile: 

Archie didn't know anything was wrong until he opened the door. He'd been deep in thought as he made his way back to his lab, and when he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun, he almost had a heart attack. Slowly, he raised his arms above his head and looked beyond the gun to Warrick's furious face. "Close the door, Archie."

Archie slowly did as he was told, his mind more shocked than afraid. What was going on? And then his eyes fell on the computer screen and a wave of understanding crashed over him. He almost laughed at Warrick's mistake. "I can explain," he said quickly.

"Oh yeah? Well you'd better get started," Warrick said, voice threatening.

"Warrick, put the gun down," he said, letting his hands drop to his side.

Warrick shook his head angrily.

"Okay, look. A couple weeks ago, Greg came to me with a USB and some pretty disturbing pictures. He wanted me to process them and said someone had sent them to him. A couple days later, he brought me a microphone he'd found in his clothes that he wanted me to try and track the signal for," Archie explained, voice almost pleading. "I haven't done anything to him, Warrick. He told me to keep it quiet because of something written on the back of one of the pictures." Archie bent down and opened another file where the note had been scanned into his computer. "Does that look like my writing, Warrick?"

Warrick had taken his finger off the trigger and was staring at the computer, face stricken. "How do I know you didn't ask someone to write that for you?" he said, voice wavering with the shame of someone who knows they made a horrible mistake.

"Do you honestly think I would do something like that?" He demanded.

Warrick lowered his gun, and there was a long pause in which both men breathed heavily. "I'm so sorry," Warrick said, putting his gun on the table.

Archie smiled nervously. "I wanted Greg to tell somebody, but he sounded pretty freaked out. He said whoever it was had been in his house before. I promised Greg that I wouldn't tell anyone unless something happened to him."

Warrick looked up, alarmed. "Did something happen to him?"

Archie frowned. "Warrick, you didn't give me much of a choice to tell you or not."

Warrick smiled slowly. "I guess not," he said. "Nick actually just called me and told me that Greg pretty much let slip he had a stalker. Now I see why he didn't tell anyone before. But why'd he tell you?"

"Greg thought he was safe in the lab," Archie replied. "On that… music video, there were also clips of you guys."

"Us?" Warrick asked incredulously.

Archie nodded. "I think it was more for the purpose of threatening Greg than anything else."

"Who do you think it is? The person who's doing all of this?" Warrick asked, in a voice that said he clearly wanted to forget everything that just happened.

"I don't know," Archie replied truthfully. "It's not one of you guys, and it's not me or Hodges, so either it's someone else in the lab or it's someone with easy access to Greg's stuff."

"How do you know it isn't Hodges?" Warrick asked.

Archie considered how to answer. Hodges definitely wasn't on his list of favorite people, but in a way, Hodges was a necessary personality in the lab, and the rest of them had devised their own way of dealing with his peculiarities. "Well, he…" he started, thinking. "Hodges isn't a killer," he said finally.

"Oh?" Warrick said skeptically. "He certainly has the right personality."

Archie frowned at him. "Hodges? Come on, Warrick. He's too convinced that he's in Grissom's pocket to do something like this. Greg is like your guys' little brother. Hodges isn't going to do anything to him."

Warrick nodded slowly, and the two men sat, deep in thought, the picture Warrick had taken by to process lying forgotten on the table.

Nick was almost doing jumping jacks to ease his nerves by the time his evidence finished running. He hurried down the hall to Archie's lab and found the two of them talking. To his surprise, Warrick's gun was lying out on the table that Warrick leaned against. He looked at Archie questioningly, but Warrick shook his head. "It's all good, man. He's in on it too," Warrick told him. "He knew before we ever put two and two together."

"Oh,"

Archie nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, and he pulled his gun on me before I could explain."

Nick turned to Warrick with a raised eyebrow. "You did what?"

Warrick shot Archie a friendly glare. "Hey, I didn't know. I found this file on his computer. Apparently it's the stuff that Greg's stalker has sent to him."

Nick looked at the computer screen. "Why did Greg come to you and not tell anyone else?"

Archie pointed to the screen. "Read that. Greg thought he was safe at the lab," Archie continued to explain about the music video and the pictures.

When he'd finished his explanation, the three men looked at each other, stumped. "Shouldn't we tell Grissom?" Nick asked.

Warrick nodded. "Let's go find him now; this isn't something we can put off."

"Hey," said Archie suddenly, looking up from the pensive silence he'd lapsed into after his explanation. "What if this is connected to that new miniature you guys have been working on?"

Nick turned slowly, wondering if he'd heard right. "What?"

"You know, the new one that Grissom and Catherine have been working on. Don't you guys know about it?" Archie said, looking confused.

Nick and Warrick looked at each other, suspicions beginning to grow in Nick's mind. "Grissom got another miniature and he didn't tell us?"

Archie looked troubled. "I thought he had. I'd assumed that's why I hadn't seen much of you guys lately."

"We never heard about this," Warrick said slowly, with a hard note to his voice. "So it's just Grissom and Catherine?"

"What do they think they're playing at?" Nick asked incredulously. "They can't hide something like that! What's the miniature like?"

Archie frowned and began to explain about the three miniature rooms. When he'd finished, a heavy silence had fallen over the room.

"Grissom's office?" Warrick questioned finally in a hushed voice.

Archie nodded.

Warrick and Nick looked at each other, each with similar expressions of disbelief and anger. "Damn it," Nick said angrily "Why on earth did they keep something like that from us? We're a team for a reason! What if that body is somebody we know!?"

Warrick nodded vigorously, but before he could say something, the door opened. They all turned around and saw Catherine standing in the doorway. Nobody said anything, just stared at her with hard, demanding looks.

* * *

Her anger had evaporated into anxious worry. The news that Greg was the victim in the little model sufficiently diverted her attention from her initial anger towards Grissom. 

She was waiting impatiently for Greg to pick up his cell phone. Grissom had set her to the task of calling him and making sure he was okay as he collected evidence off the table, and she was getting no luck.

For the fourth time, the call directed her to his voice mail. Worried, she hung up. "He's not answering, Gil," she said. "I think we should go check on him."

He looked up. "Where do we start?"

"Well, I saw his car in the parking lot. There was a utility van parked in my spot when I got there…" her face drained of its color as she realized the implications.

They were out in the parking lot before she knew it. The white van wasn't there anymore, and when they tried Greg's car door, it was unlocked. "This doesn't look good," she commented as she opened his door.

A piece of paper fluttered to the ground, and they both stared at it, fear in their eyes. Finally, Grissom pulled on gloves and bent down to pick it up. Sara read over his shoulder, her blood running cold.

_Hello, Mr. Grissom. _


	23. Chapter 23

**I guess it's time for another update huh? haha... sorry guys, I got distracted by a mixture of school, my original stuff and... coughs harry potter fanfiction... I haven't written harry potter fanfiction since two years ago... what's wrong w/ me? I thought I broke myself of the habit... but there is one that I'd like to finish sometime... Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Enjoy guys!**

**Chapter 23**

She stopped in the doorway, staring at the three men in the room who all looked at her with barely concealed expressions of disappointment and accusation. For some reason, this angered her. "Not you too!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

Nick pushed himself away from the table he was leaning on. "Catherine, we want answers."

She paced back and forth just inside the door, her hands on her head, looking upwards and trying to keep herself under control. "We did what we thought was right," she said finally.

"Oh?" Warrick started, but Nick stepped in front of him.

"Cath, that's not the answer we want," Nick said plainly, his arms crossed.

"What do you want me to tell you?! It appears you already know everything!" she said, turning to face them.

"Whose body is it?" Archie asked.

She looked at him, surprised. His tone was level, but his gaze was just as accusatory as the others. How did she tell them this? She wondered briefly how Grissom had explained it so easily. "I—"

"Yes you _can_ tell us, Cath," Nick said. "We're going to find out eventually."

"Nick…"

"Catherine, we already know Greg is in danger. Is it his?" Archie cut her off before Nick could say anything.

She heaved a sigh and looked at the three of them before nodding slowly. "We didn't tell you because…"

"How long have you known?" Warrick asked, cutting her off.

She looked at him helplessly. "A month," she said finally. "Grissom got the package a month ago, and we've been working on it ever since."

"Catherine! That was something important! We should know, and we shouldn't find out a _month_ later," Warrick said heatedly. "Who else knows about this?"

"Grissom, Sara just found out… I don't know about anyone else. How did you find out?" She asked, glad for a non-aggressive question she could answer.

Archie waved his hand. "I found out and didn't tell you guys. Hodges knows too. We figured we wouldn't say anything to you; I thought your whole team was working on it, and when these two came in, it occurred to me that Greg's stalker and the miniature might be related. As far as I know they were about at the same—"

"Wait, what?" Catherine interrupted him. "Greg has a stalker?"

Archie nodded and repeated to her what he told Nick and Warrick. "He was threatened not to mention it to anyone, but he told me because he thought he was safe in the lab."

"But he's not…" Catherine said quietly.

"Yeah, we just kinda figured that out," Nick said sarcastically.

She flinched. "I'm sorry,"

"Sorry doesn't cut it," Nick said plainly.

"Hey guys," Warrick interrupted. "Let's not argue, alright? Greg could be in danger. What do we do?"

"I think we should call Greg and make sure he's okay," Catherine said wearily. "The miniature is marked as two days from now."

Before she could call, however, her phone rang. She answered it without second thought, seeing that it was Grissom. "Gil, Nick, Warrick and Archie know too, and apparently Hodges as well. That just leaves Gr—" she stopped as Grissom cut her off. Her eyes widened at his reply and she looked around at the three men who were watching her questioningly. "I… God, Gil that's… Okay," she hung up and looked around at the others.

There was a pause, heavy with tension. "Guys," she started. "Greg's missing."


	24. Chapter 24

**haha... back to Greg... okay, so for anybody who read 'Beautiful Life', I'm starting to notice some patterns in my CSI fics... hahah... you'll find out when you read this one... anyways, enjoy! **

**P.S Does anybody know what day the next season starts? **

**Chapter 24**

_"Who are you?" he asked, heart beating painfully fast. _

_She didn't laugh. "Your friend," she said coldly. "You broke the rules for the last time, Mr. Sanders." _

_The gun moved up to the base of his neck. "If I shoot," she said. "The bullet will go straight through your spinal cord. You might die immediately, you might not. Maybe you'll survive for a few seconds." _

_He shuddered. "Please don't," _

_This time she laughed. "Get in, Mr. Sanders." The white door in front of him was pulled open by a hand behind him and he was shoved in. He quickly turned over to see her still pointing the gun at him. He scrambled backwards, but her hand caught his arm and threw him around back on to his stomach. She was strong, and the next moment, she was pinning him down with her knees as she reached for something._

_He heard metal click, and felt the cold steel of handcuffs against his wrists which were held behind his back. "Where'd you get those?" he asked. He was scared, but there was a strange bravery somewhere in the back of his mind that ignored his rapidly-beating heart. _

_She turned him over again with one arm and put the gun against his temple. "Surprised, Mr. Sanders? Perhaps it's unnerving that a woman is stronger than you." _

_It _was _unnerving, but Greg didn't say anything. She frowned at him. "Mr. Sanders, I work in the crime lab with you. Hand cuffs are not hard to come by." _

_She worked in the crime lab? He looked at her closely and noticed the white work clothes she was wearing. One of the custodians. "I guess I should have fired my maid like Nick told me to?" Greg said, the brave part of him taking over again. _

_She laughed coldly. "I didn't work at your old apartment complex, but nobody looks twice at a measly cleaning lady. I'm more invisible than Harry Potter will ever be." _

_Greg shivered. Now that she mentioned it, she did look vaguely familiar. He was sure he'd seen the thin, blonde haired custodian before, but just as she said, they were essentially invisible. Nobody pays attention to the cleaning people, not even after the case he'd had with Nick a month ago. He could think of no reply to her comment. _

_She considered him with gleaming blue eyes. "I suppose I can save my little mixture for later," she said, more to herself than for his benefit. _

_Before he knew it, he was plunged into darkness as she slid the door shut. He heard her get into the driver's seat, and the van rumbled beneath him. _

_He wasn't sure how long the van was moving, but it couldn't have been more than two minutes. The van stopped, and he wondered where he was, but she called to him from the front seat. "I'll see you in a bit, Mr. Sanders. I have to go turn the surveillance cameras back on." _

_The door opened and there was light for a moment before it closed and Greg was left in the back of an empty van. He couldn't be far from the crime lab. Maybe he was still in the parking lot? That didn't make sense. He could hear traffic outside, and he guessed that the van was parked along the curb. _

_His hands were handcuffed uncomfortably behind his back, and he rolled to the side to take his weight off his arms, which were going numb. He considered yelling to see if he could catch someone's attention, but he was almost certain that no one would hear him. The road outside the crime lab was a busy street that nobody walked on, and all his co-workers would be sitting inside the lab, presumably working on the bomb case. He wondered if they noticed he was missing yet. _

_His cell phone suddenly rang, and he looked down, realizing it was still in his front pocket. There was no way he could get it out. Somebody was trying to call him and he couldn't answer. Frustrated, he looked around, wondering if there was anything that could help him get it out. He noticed shelves along one wall, and he looked at the legs that supported it, eyes lighting up. Wincing slightly as the handcuffs chafed against his skin, he maneuvered himself until he could use the edge of the leg to push his cell phone out of his pocket. _

_By now, it had rung a total of four times with periods of thirty seconds between calls, and it had stopped ringing. Annoyed that he'd missed his caller, Greg turned over and picked it up with his hands. Having memorized how to get to everything on his phone, he went to text messages, knowing that calling someone was useless without speaker phone. His hands were beginning to go numb also by the time he'd finished his short text to Grissom: _In my locker

_He'd just got it sent when the driver's door opened again and his kidnapper got back in. She turned around to look at him and frowned before climbing over the seat into the back with him. "Mr. Sanders," she said, her voice low and threatening when she'd found his cell phone. "I thought I explained quite clearly to you what would happen if I shot this gun." She pressed it against the back of his neck again, and he recoiled from it, fear finally taking over his mind. _

_He heard her sigh and couldn't help but shake under her hold as she reached for something. She held it before his eyes and he struggled weakly against her. He knew what was in that needle now. Her arm was firm, however, and her voice was very close to his ear. "Mr. Sanders, it is either the gun, or this. One will kill you, the other won't. What's your decision?" _

_He stopped struggling and closed his eyes as she pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and inserted the needle. He bit down on his lip to avoid screaming. The needle wasn't the thin, painless kind the doctors used. _

_He felt her move away, and he lay on the floor panting. The solution took about a minute to work, and he felt its sedative effects on his muscles before he slipped into unconsciousness. _


	25. Chapter 25

**So that episode tonight alerted me to the existence of this story again... haha... sorry guys... Well, I won't say anything about the premiere in case people haven't seen it (although I can't think of a good enough excuse for not seeing it), but anyways! that was intense!!! okay, yeah, so sorry about the delay again... have fun reading...**

**Hahaha... okay, for those of you who actually read the other chapter 25 I had up... uh... that was me being stupid and accidentally posting the rest... so... Yeah, this is the actual chapter 25... so... good for you if you read it... uh... bad? for you if you didn't, cuz I'm gonna continue posting the rest of it as if it never happened! okay... yeah, sorry about that...**

**Chapter 25**

His phone beeped and Grissom looked down at it before glancing up at everyone apologetically. The whole night shift, along with Archie and Hodges, had gathered in the evidence room and were looking at the miniature and going through the manila folder of information. Everyone looked up at the sound of his phone and watched him expectantly.

Grissom dug his phone out and flipped it open. It was a text message. That's odd. He rarely got text messages. He looked at the little bouncing envelope for a moment before he realized who it was from. 'Text Message from Gregory Sanders'. Heart pounding, he opened it. _In my locker_, it read.

Frowning, he looked up at the rest of the people in the room. "Greg just texted me," he announced. Faces lit up excitedly, and Grissom glanced down at his phone again before explaining. "In my locker, he says."

"Does anyone know Greg's combo?" Nick asked immediately.

"It might be in that word file," Archie said. "We could check that,"

Grissom shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We can cut his lock off."

Grissom and Nick made their way to the locker rooms, not speaking. "I hope you know that Ecklie is following us," said a voice from behind.

Grissom turned to see that Hodges had accompanied them out the room. Behind him was Ecklie, walking briskly towards them with an expression of loathing plastered on his face. Grissom wanted to yell at someone. He did not at all feel like dealing with Ecklie at the moment. "_What_ do you think you're doing?" Ecklie demanded.

Nick stepped in before Grissom could reply. "Remember the guy you thought was leaking information to the press?" he asked acidly.

Ecklie gave him a blank look.

"Yeah? Well, he's missing," Nick said bluntly.

Grissom stared at the two of them. Why hadn't he heard about this? Ecklie's expression went from one of anger to one of surprised disappointment. "He what?"

"He's missing," Nick repeated.

"I—" Ecklie seemed to be struggling with something. "I… I'm sorry," he said finally. There was a long pause in which Grissom resisted the urge to comment. Ecklie coughed uncomfortably. "Uh… um… Day shift can take over the bombing case for now," he said, subdued.

Grissom, Nick and Hodges were silent.

"Do you uh… do you need anything. Is there anything my team could help you with?" Ecklie asked, his tone wary, as if he expected one of them to start yelling at him.

This time, Nick didn't reply. Grissom managed to control his sudden anger at the man. "No, that's alright. We'll call if we need help," Grissom replied in a level voice.

Ecklie nodded awkwardly. "G-good luck," he said before turning on his heel and leaving in the direction he came.

Grissom turned to Nick questioningly. "Why didn't I hear about Greg being accused of that?"

Nick gave him a long look. "I think that question is a little hypocritical under the circumstances."

Grissom blinked and hurried to catch up with Nick, who'd continued walking. "Nick?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," he said.

Nick stopped walking to turn around and look at him. His expression softened considerably after a moment. "You didn't have a choice," he said quietly. "It's not your fault."

It took them less than a minute to have the lock cut off, and Grissom pulled on gloves before opening his team member's locker. In the back left corner was a little cardboard box. Grissom took it out and delicately set it on the bench while Nick cleaned out the rest of Greg's stuff.

When they got back to the evidence room, Grissom saw Catherine and Archie on their way out, saying that they were going to look at the surveillance tape. Warrick and Sara had left already to process Greg's car, and so Grissom and Nick set to going through the little cardboard box from Greg's locker. Hodges picked up the scope and looked at the little miniatures curiously. "Have you found the bleach yet?" he asked.

Grissom nodded. "It's in the little storage room," Grissom told him, waving his hand negligently.

Inside the little cardboard box, Grissom found the USB, the envelope of pictures, the two checks, the old cell phone, the webcam and the two microphones. In another envelope that lay on top of everything was a collection of notes that Greg had written and dated.

Grissom picked up the first one, which was dated the day after Grissom had received the miniatures.

_Today, I got an envelope in the mail with no return address. It had a USB inside along with pictures of me that I can never remember taking. Immediately after I saw these, I left my apartment and somebody called me on my phone. The number was restricted; I'd gotten a couple calls like this before but I didn't think anything of it until now. After I'd left, whoever sent it called Catherine on my home phone. In the car, I got another call by a restricted number. The person's voice was altered, but they read the GPS coordinates on my car exactly right. _

_A couple of days ago, I lost my cell phone. I haven't stayed at my apartment in the last week; instead, I checked into a hotel. Today, I got a call from my apartment manager that I've been evicted. She said that I was evicted because I didn't pay rent and because I 'ripped up part of the carpet in the bedroom'. I was talking to Nick when I got a text message from my stalker saying that I was too close to telling someone what was happening. When Nick and I got to the apartment, I found another envelope with the two checks I'd sent my manager and my lost cell phone. I also found a webcam in my car that the stalker had taken pictures with. A couple days ago, my mother called me and told me she was coming to visit, but at the apartment complex, my stalker called back and told me he'd sent the fake tickets to her. I caught a glimpse of him as he was turning the corner after I hung up. During this phone call, he told me that he had a set of 'rules' that I had to follow and I was breaking them by letting slip to my friends about what was happening. He also told me he was operating on a time line, but he said the timeline was for someone else's benefit, not mine and he also told me that somebody else knows about everything aside from Archie. _

Grissom knew exactly who the killer was referring to in his conversation with Greg. He felt Nick's eyes on him, so he turned to the man, who had been going through the other contents of the box. "He's left us notes of what happened," Grissom told him.

Nick nodded. "Ecklie said something about 'hiding things away in his locker' during that argument."

Grissom frowned. "What happened?"

Nick explained it to him, and Grissom scowled bitterly. "I can't stand Ecklie sometimes," he said after Nick had finished explaining.

Nick didn't reply.

They worked in silence until Catherine and Archie got back, announcing that the surveillance camera had been turned off for about fifteen minutes. Warrick and Sara returned shortly after them, toting evidence bags and Greg's lap top. "I figured his email might yield something," Sara said. Her voice was shaking slightly, and Grissom longed to go put an arm around her. He had to make do with giving her a comforting look, though. She smiled wearily at him as she turned on his lap top.

Grissom sighed and turned back to the contents of the box. They had a day and a half left before they would supposedly find his corpse in the little cleaning room down the hall.


	26. Chapter 26

**Okay... well, due to my little... cough cough mistake with last chapter, I'm guessing most of my avid readers have already finished the thing... the um... cliffhangers to follow are for the benefit of the people who didn't read the whole thing last time... :)**

**Chapter 26**

Greg awoke in an empty room. His hands were still handcuffed behind him, and he could still feel the effects of the sedative. His eyes were blurry, and he blinked a couple times to clear them. The room was bare except for a wooden chair and glass table, and it was lit by a dim, plain lamp that sat on the table. There were no windows, and the walls were grey and uninviting. The door was closed, and Greg knew that even if he could stand, he would find it locked.

His eyes, however, were drawn to the walls where large pictures were plastered. Each wall had two blown up pictures that were almost poster-sized. It took him a while to realize what they were. On either side of the door was a big picture. One was of a little office, and with a start, Greg realized it was a miniature of Grissom's office. On the other side of the door was another blown up picture of a miniature evidence room. The wall on his left had a picture of Grissom's actual office and a picture of the actual evidence room, which was at the moment that the picture was taken, empty. The wall on his right had an enlarged clipping from a newspaper that explained the miniature cases that 'had Las Vegas Crime Scene Analyst, Gilbert Grissom, Stumped'. Next to it was another newspaper clipping that described how 'Las Vegas Night Shift is Furious at a Leak of Evidence Concerning the Recent Bombings'.

Greg wasn't sure he wanted to turn around to see the back wall. However, with great effort, he moved to examine the wall behind him. The sedative still had a hold on his muscles, and they burned as he moved and the movement left him exhausted. On the back wall were not two pictures, but three. The middle picture was that of a blown up picture of a little doll. Greg recognized it immediately as the doll they always found pictures of in the miniatures. On this picture's right, was a picture of a little storage room for what looked like cleaning supplies. Inside the storage room was a little body that sent a shiver down Greg's spine. The picture on the other side was a blow up of a DNA analysis report from the lab. At the bottom, in cold, black ink was his name: 'Greg Sanders'.

Greg's blood ran cold and he closed his eyes to avoid looking at the wall. He knew that it would take a monumental effort for him to move again, and he did not want to look at the little doll staring down at him with wide, blue eyes.

He knew who he was dealing with now. There was no denying it: he was the miniature killer's next victim. A new, intense fear took hold of his mind at the thought of the normal looking blonde lady he'd struggled with in the van. It was her hand that had painstakingly, and with amazing focus, created the perfect ½ inch miniature of his dead body.

He wasn't sure how long he'd laid there, his eyes closed tightly to avoid looking into the eyes of the little doll, but he'd fallen into uneasy sleep. His sleep was plagued with nightmares, and he found himself once again in that alleyway, looking at nothing but the grimy floor and hearing a blur of voices yelling and taunting him. It was impossible to think clearly, and as he crawled, his eyes looked up and he saw the motionless body of the boy he hit. He screamed and pushed himself away from the body, earning himself another kick in the ribs.

It took him a couple moments to realize that the last kick had been real. He blinked a couple times and scooted away as he saw the woman standing over him laugh. "Bad dreams again, Mr. Sanders?" She asked mockingly as she sat down in the wooden chair.

He glared at her, his mind racing furiously. It suddenly dawned on him that the sedative was finally wearing off. He'd managed to move in his sleep, and he was now facing the table where she sat.

She had blonde hair, glassy blue eyes and looked to be in her mid thirties. She still wore the plain garb of the crime lab custodians: a white t-shirt and nondescript beige pants. For some reason, that unnerved him. "Who are you?" he asked, managing to suppress his fear.

"Didn't you already ask me that?" she asked, eyes glinting in the dim light. "I'm disinclined to give you an answer, Mr. Sanders."

His heart was slowly returning to its usual pace, and he looked at her oddly. "Why are you here then?"

She made no move to hurt or taunt him, and aside from her initial kick to his abdomen, she'd done nothing to harm him. Something wasn't right. She smiled thinly at him. "I figured you have a right to know the truth before you die, Mr. Sanders."

His nostrils flared angrily. "So you can taunt me?"

She laughed. "Mr. Sanders, do you really think this was all about you?"

He started, surprised. "What?"

She acted as if she hadn't heard him. "Most of this has been for somebody else. Sure, you were my victim, but I wasn't directing this at you."

"I find that hard to believe," he said quietly.

"Oh really?" she said, raising her eyebrows with a smirk. "Look at the walls, Mr. Sanders. Your supervisor had that miniature all along. He knew it was you, hence the DNA report; I got your blood out of your personal file at work. Why didn't he tell you? Because I threatened to kill you earlier if he did. Unfortunately it's all out now. All your co-workers know, and they're trying to find you at this moment. I'm confident they won't until the time comes. There is still something I need to arrange though, but that shouldn't be hard. I can be persuasive if I need to be."

Greg stared at her. So Grissom did know. He'd thought the man was up to something for the past month, but never made the connection.

She continued speaking, ignorant of his thoughts. "Mr. Sanders, as you and your team have already deduced, I'm not a social person. Quite the contrary; I can hide in society, disappear behind a mask of 'cleaning lady'. It might interest you to know that I chose to become a 'cleaning lady', not because I was uneducated or because I couldn't get a job anywhere else, but because of conscious choice. In fact, I'm just as educated as you. I went to Stanford also. I didn't graduate with quite the same reputation, of course, but I went there and _did_ graduate with a degree in psychology."

Greg listened to her speech, mentally documenting everything she said. His heart still fluttered with fear, but his mind was able to concentrate.

She cocked her head at him before continuing. "You see, I find the study of people fascinating. As a maid, or custodian, or 'cleaning lady' or however you want to put it, I can blend in, free to observe and calculate. A long time ago, I found the thing that was most interesting to study in people was fear. Everyone responds to it differently, some with anger, others with disbelief, some with cowardly submission, some even with delight. A few months ago, I figured I'd conduct some… experiments. My first was Izzy Delancey: washed up celebrity, one kid he didn't know existed and an ex-wife he could care less about. I stalked him just as I did you, and his first response was to dismiss it as paparazzi, groupies, the usual. After a while, he started to get suspicious and I could tell he was going to tell someone, so I killed him and left my artwork for you guys to wonder at."

Greg wanted to close his eyes, shut his ears to her sick games. He wanted to crawl into a corner somewhere and never see her again. She didn't even seem to notice him as she spoke; it was almost as if she was addressing the air, telling the world her disturbing wonderings and 'experiments'. However, he could do nothing but listen.

"After my first murder, and yes, Izzy Delancey was the first person I'd ever murdered, I began to pay more attention to the activities in the lab. Gil Grissom caught my eye. He was intelligent, mysterious, unpredictable, even single the first time I saw him. At first it was infatuation, and my second model was meant to impress him. After a while, I'd realized that he was disturbed by my artwork, not impressed. At first, this disappointed me, but the infatuation wore off and I began to see the beauty in his handling of fear and frustration. The last two murders were meant for me to observe his strange way of dealing," her eyes were distant as she spoke. "He was slowly beginning to lose my interest, though. Patterns are boring, and it was all becoming an intricate pattern that I'd seen before. I decided to change it up a bit, and you seem to have fallen on the receiving end of that change."

Her sudden end of her speech brought Greg up short. She was looking at him with cold, calculating eyes: a gaze he didn't like very much. "So this was all about Grissom? All about your sick little game with him?"

She paused before answering. "Yes," she said finally. "Yes, it was. I was enjoying our little tug of war, and I especially enjoyed the fact that I was winning. I was leading him around by the nose. He'd found all my clues, and it was amusing to watch him chase his tail." She paused again and then looked down at him. "I came here for your benefit, actually, Mr. Sanders. Why don't we play a little game of cop vs. suspect? I'm sure you have a lot of questions to ask me, and I've grown fond of you over the past month. I know how frustrating it is to die with questions unanswered."

He stared at her, undecided. He didn't want to play with her, but he _did_ want answers, and he realized that this was probably his last chance to get them. His trust in the team hadn't wavered. He knew that they were doing all they could to find him, but there was no guaranteeing that they would, and even if they did, they would tell him her answers, and he wanted to hear them directly from her mouth. "Why me?" he asked immediately.

She looked at him again with that unnerving, calculating stare. "I knew what I was looking for when I was choosing my last victim. I wanted one of his team, one of the people he was closest to, but I didn't want him. I wanted him to seethe in frustration at trying to solve another one. My first choice was Ms. Sidle, of course. His relationship with her is quite interesting."

Greg couldn't help but interrupt her. "What?"

She laughed. "They haven't told any of you for fear that it would become a scandal. They've been dancing around you for months now. I'm surprised that none of you have noticed anything."

Greg's eyes widened. So Sara _was_ in a relationship. Something very deep inside him withered. He'd carried useless hope around with him for months, and now he knew. He found he wasn't bitter. If she was happy with Grissom, then he was happy too. Grissom would treat her well, and Greg realized that he wanted her happiness in a different relationship over discontent in a relationship with him.

"Shall I go on?" his kidnapper asked mockingly. "Have you finished realizing your hopes have been crushed?"

Greg nodded slowly.

She grinned with sick pleasure. "I didn't choose Ms. Sidle because she is disturbingly alike to me. That connection would have been bad for both of us."

"She's not like you," Greg growled, suddenly enraged.

She laughed. "Mr. Sanders, you misunderstand me. I'm a foster child, you see. Ms. Sidle and I have experienced similar things. The sympathy that could possibly develop between us would have not only compromised my efforts, but your investigation as well,"

Greg shook his head angrily. "Nobody could ever feel sorry for you," he said. "Perhaps for the child you used to be, but not for the monster you are now."

Her expression was unreadable. "A monster? I'm not a weak female anymore?" When he didn't reply, she continued her explanation. "So Ms. Sidle was off my list. Mrs. Willows was easy to eliminate. I wanted Mr. Grissom to know the purpose of my choice. Mrs. Willows has a lot of enemies because of her affiliation with the Braun family. Mr. Stokes I chose to leave alone because he's already had a stalker, and he'd know what to do. For a long time, I was undecided. You or Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown, I know, responds to fear with anger. There are ways I could have subdued him, but he is still a strong person, and Mr. Grissom would have been much more confident that he could take care of himself."

Greg glared at her. Was she saying he was weak?

She smiled at him, almost as if she knew what he was thinking. "You, however, were still shaken from your trial with the James Family. It was one of your first tastes of the stress that field work comes with. Sure, you were recovering, but I was in the perfect to put a wedge in the cracks that weren't healed yet. Not only that, but the rest of the team looks at you as a little brother, and Mr. Grissom sees you as an emerging mind that he can mentor and teach. You were my best choice, and I made it with little hesitation."

Greg didn't know what to say to that. She essentially chose him because he was the 'weak link' in the team. "What about the doll? What does it mean?" he asked after he got his feelings under control.

She looked up at the wall almost fondly. "It was my favorite doll when I was young. I was a foster child because my parents were abusive of my little brother and me. They killed my little brother when they hit him too hard one time. He was only three, and I was about seven. After that, they started to hate me even more. They framed me, but the authorities found out it was them that did it, and they put me in a foster home. After that, I'd become fascinated by blood, pain and fear. My doll was my way of expressing my thoughts. The Dells always took it away from me because they thought it was 'creepy'. Back then, the doll was very real to me, and when it disappeared for the last time, I no longer responded in the way that most children do. Eventually, I got out of that, but that morbid fascination has always been part of me."

Greg shivered. Her words were haunting, almost unreal. She didn't wait for him to inquire further, though. "Before I started experimenting with fear, I did the same with pain. The counselor they made me go to thought I was masochist, but I wasn't. I'd never liked pain myself. I'd lived with it for the first seven years of my life. I just liked the effects it had on others. I was a sadist. The counselors never made that distinction, and they eventually thought I'd grown out of it. After a while, I realized that fear produced more satisfying results than pain, although those results also sent a thrill through me. I became a terror to the other foster kids, but Ernie Dell absolutely loved me. When I started taking an interest in his hobby, I became his favorite, second only to his trains."

Greg closed his eyes and looked away from her. She was so twisted that he wasn't sure he wanted any more answers, but his mind demanded them anyways. "Were you part of that train club also?"

She nodded. "I was, but by then, it was only to take advantage of Ernie's resources. By the time I'd gotten out of college, I was almost bankrupt. I only had enough to stay in a grimy apartment, and I had no way to make my miniatures, so I used Ernie to get supplies. After a while, I established myself and made more money."

Greg suddenly opened his eyes again. "So where does the bleach fit in?"

Her eyes went blank. "What did you say?" she asked in a creepy monotone voice.

The warning signs were more than obvious, and Greg shook his head. "I—"

But before he could take back his question, she'd stood up and was shaking his shoulders with powerful hands, in a rage. "What did you say!?" her eyes were wild, and Greg recoiled, but she pulled him back again.

Before he knew it, he was her personal punching bag. She fell upon him in a frenzied rage, and he tried to turn away from him, but she wouldn't let him, and his mind returned him again to that alley way. He was lying on the wet ground again, on the receiving end of countless angered blows. This time it was different though; it was only one person beating him.

The sedative still exerted a small hold on his muscles, but he fought it with his life. Each movement was against a wall of resistance, and eventually, he gave up and let her rage blow itself out. After a while, he was struggling to stay conscious, and his eyesight was slipping away.

Unexpected, the blows ceased and he felt her get up and move in the direction of the table. A moment later, the table was falling on him and as the rim hit his abdomen, the air was knocked out of him in a painful whoosh. He lay there, breathing heavily and struggling to release the pressure on his stomach.

The room was silent and dark for a moment before she lifted the table off of him and sat down again. He didn't look at her. Her rage and his own resistance left him exhausted, and he closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

"Don't say that again," she said in a haggard voice.

He opened his eyes. "Why did it set you off?" he asked, wincing as his body protested. "You work with it every day."

Her eyes were flinty. "Most of the time, I have access to a way to relieve my anger artistically. The models are my way of doing that. I didn't start doing these until I began my job as a custodian at the crime lab. When I work with it during the day, I bottle up my anger and put that energy into the miniature I'm working on. When I put the bleach object in the miniature, I put all my anger in it as well. Right now, I'm not working on a miniature so there is no way for me to relieve that."

Greg tried to turn away from her. Pain shot through his abdomen, and he guessed that one or two of his ribs were broken, along with his wrist. He managed to keep from screaming, though, and he lay back, panting. "But why did it set you off?" he repeated, trying to divert his attention from his wounds.

She didn't look at him as she answered. "My parents used to burn me with a stronger solution of it when I was little. It was their way of punishment for not doing what they asked. They would simply say the word, and I would obey, afraid of what they would do if I didn't. I knew this would happen. That's why I made your body in that condition when I put it in the miniature."

"You're sick," Greg said, more to himself that to anyone else. "I was right when I said nobody could pity you," he told her, eyes watering from the pain.

She glared at him, expression icy. "I think I'll end our little game here, Mr. Sanders. You have the rest of today to live. At midnight, I will bring you into the crime lab and leave you in the little cleaning room: the one that all of us go to before work," she told him.

His eyes lit up. The team would find him. They'd know which one it was and they'd save him.

"There's still something I have to arrange, though. Goodbye, Mr. Sanders," she said before leaving him in the dark with her favorite doll staring down at him.


	27. Chapter 27

**Well, big apologies everyone... but I sadly have no excuse... the end of this fic will probably be the last of my fanfiction excursions... (with the exception of a oneshot here and there)... But this isn't the end! not yet, not of this one anyways... okay! well, I know I accidentally posted the whole thing last time, and a couple of you read it before I could correct it, but I guess I'm posting the rest anyways...**

**Keep in mind taht I wrote this before the whole miniature thing was solved... so there. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 27**

None of them had gone anywhere in the past day and a half. Nick wasn't even tired. His worry for his friend was enough to keep him awake. They'd gotten no where. None of the evidence that Greg had stored in his locker bore any fingerprints or anything that could help them.

So far, they were working on hunches: namely, the 'cleaning lady theory' that Grissom and Hodges had formed after finding the bleach. That had yielded little though, and they hadn't gotten a ransom note yet.

The time was getting close, they all knew, and Brass was with them, ready to rush to Greg's rescue when his kidnapper brought him into the lab. It was about 10 pm, and in the miniature, the clock in Grissom's office read 12:00. They could only assume the killer meant midnight.

"Dr. Grissom?"

Everyone in the evidence room turned around to see one of the custodians looking at them warily. They all looked back at him suspiciously. Nick knew that everyone was noticing the 'cleaning people' a lot more, and now that this custodian was talking to them, their suspicions were somehow confirmed.

Grissom answered, his voice hard. "Yes?"

The custodian flinched. "I heard about your investigation," he said.

_Who hasn't?_ Nick thought bitterly.

Grissom nodded for him to continue.

"Well, I thought I'd let you know that Alice Adams left early yesterday without telling anyone," the custodian said. "I… just thought I'd tell you, because she's usually around when she's supposed to be and I know you guys are looking at us."

Nick frowned and looked at Grissom for his response. "Has she come back in?" Grissom asked.

The custodian shook his head. "No, and her shift started two hours ago."

Nick's heart leapt.

Grissom looked at the custodian carefully. "Do you know of anyone else who's been acting weird lately?"

The custodian shook his head. "No sir, if you're looking for 'weird', then it's definitely Ms. Adams. We used to uh… well we were in a relationship a while ago, and ever since she came to work here, she hasn't been who I thought she was."

The room was silent, and everyone looked at each other, exchanging significant glances. Finally, Grissom turned to the custodian again. His voice was quiet and gentle. "Did you know Greg?"

Nick looked at his supervisor, annoyed. Greg wasn't dead. Grissom didn't have to talk about him in the past tense. The custodian looked up and shrugged. "I knew who he was. Mr. Sanders asked me for directions the other day. He was probably the first one of you people who actually talked to me."

Nick looked at the custodian with a new expression. He suddenly realized that indeed, they hardly noticed the cleaning people.

Grissom's expression was friendly and grateful as he answered. "What's your name?"

"Anthony Robinson, Sir."

Grissom smiled at him. "Thank you Mr. Robinson," he said quietly.

The man inclined his head and left.

Everyone turned to Grissom expectantly. "Archie, can you look up Alice Adams for us?"

Archie nodded and left quickly. The room was silent as they waited. Nick glanced at Warrick. He wanted this to be over. He wanted Greg to be in the room with them.

Sara practically pounced on Archie when he came back. "What's the address?"

Archie read off an address, but as they started to leave, he continued speaking. "Wait," he said. "I thought you'd want to know. Alice Adams was one of the Dells' foster children."

That erased all doubt in his mind. "Nick," Grissom said. "Call Brass. Catherine, you, me and Nick are going to Adams' house."

Nick barely registered himself speaking to Brass on the phone. Instead, his heart was pounding loudly in his chest as he clambered in the car with Catherine and Grissom. Warrick and Sara had protested mildly, but Grissom pointed out to them that they had to be there in case Greg was brought into the lab.

The house that they stopped in front of was a nondescript building in a middle class neighborhood. The flashing police lights looked out of place, and the quiet of the night was disturbed as Brass jumped out of the police cruiser in the front and hammered on the door with four troopers behind him.

Nick, Catherine and Grissom followed them up the stairs to the front door and they all waited with impatient worry. After a minute of tense anticipation, Brass kicked in the door and they all poured through the doorway. It took them less than two minutes to search the house and realize Greg wasn't there.

Just as Nick was giving up, though, Grissom shouted "The basement!"

However, the basement was also empty. There was blood on the floor, and Nick's eyes roved over the room with barely concealed disappointment and disgust. On the walls were pictures that sent a chill down Nick's spine. Greg had definitely been in this room, and what he had endured here, Nick didn't want to know.

Catherine, who hadn't come down with them, entered the door. "We have to get back to the lab," she said urgently. "Her car is missing."

Just as quickly as they'd gone to the house, they rushed back to the lab. The ride back was quiet, and everyone was busy contemplating their own anxious thoughts. The scene at the lab, however, was far from comforting.

It looked as if the whole population of the lab was gathered outside, and Nick jumped out the car as soon as it was parked. "What's going on?" he yelled at one of the dayshift workers.

Before he could reply, though, Nick had hurried up to the doors where a policeman barred his path. "We can't let you in,"

"What?!" Nick yelled above the clamor of voices.

The policeman's expression was firm. "We've had another bomb threat. You can't go in."


	28. Chapter 28

**Editing schmediting... due to my believe in the previous statement, this update probably contains a lot of crappish errors and what not... so please forgive any you see... Enjoy!**

**Chapter 28**

He'd been sedated again; there was nothing he could do to resist as she carried him around the back of the building through a little used entrance. At the front, he could see people milling around talking. Where was the rest of his team? Did they know about the bomb threat yet?

_"I don't care where you put it as long as you fucking put it there!" she screamed into the phone. "Look, I'm paying you plenty, I already paid you! If you want, you can have all my money, just plant the fucking bomb!" _

_Greg hadn't heard her cuss in the time he'd been there, and he saw it as a good sign. At least the person she was talking to was resisting her. _

_"What?" she asked irritably. "Yes, of course. Make sure I have at least thirty minutes to get out… No I'm not going to tell you what I'm doing, no, I won't turn you in to the police. What?! You want proof? I'll come give you proof! How does a bullet in the head sound? Certainly seems like it…" _

_Greg gasped as he tried to move again. He knew the end was near. The blood that was slowly seeping onto the floor testified to that effect. _

_"Put it somewhere so that something will catch fire. I want the police out of there for as long as possible. Yeah, second floor sounds great… Not in any of the storage rooms… I don't care if it ruins your fucking MO… your reputation doesn't really matter to me… fine, put it in one of the evidence storage rooms then… they aren't hard to find! Oh, they're all over the place, you can't miss them. Okay… okay… nice doing business with you." _

_She hung up and turned to grin at Greg, who still lay on the floor, grimacing from the pain. _

He could still feel the pain, and it magnified every time she bumped him. His mind was on the verge of unconsciousness, but each time his ribs protested, he was jerked into consciousness. He knew the solution was wearing off again, but its effects still maintained a strong hold on his muscles, and his helplessness only added an unwanted indignity to his situation. Just when he was wondering where it would end he was tossed roughly to the ground.

For the first time since he was kidnapped, he screamed as pain shot through his body. "Goodbye Mr. Sanders," she said.

The door closed and he was left in darkness, unable to move and unable to see. His body was screaming at him, along with his mind which was heavy with pain and fear. Something wet touched his cheek, and he tried to recoil but the solution was still somewhat strong and wouldn't let him. A moment later, his cheek exploded with fire as he realized what it was: bleach. The sickening alcohol smell was overpowering, and with a monumental effort, he pulled himself away from it, but his movement only made it flow faster. This time, the burning sensation was on his arms, and he lay there in agony before he lapsed into unconsciousness, his nostrils picking up the first scent of smoke.

* * *

Warrick stood there, stricken as they watched the back of the building burn. The firefighters were swarming around it, but Warrick and the others could do nothing but watch, one thought, face and name consuming their mind: Greg. He was somewhere inside, and there was no way they could get to him. 

Nick stood somewhere on his left, his expression one of similar helplessness and despair. Grissom was behind him, standing with Sara, and Catherine was on his right, tears pouring down her cheeks. Numb, Warrick put an arm around her. They watched their building burn, knowing what was burning inside, their minds feeling nothing but emotional pain.

An eternity seemed to have passed before a firefighter came up to them. "Captain Brass has been yelling at us to let you guys in, so we're opening the building to your team and the medics. They say that you have someone trapped inside, but we didn't find anyone,"

The team stared at him, dumbstruck for a moment. "We've controlled the fire, and you must understand this is a serious breach of our protocol to let you in,"

"Only we could find him," Grissom told the fireman.

They ran into the building, other firemen directing them and handing them masks. "Put these on!" said the one who seemed to be in charge.

They obeyed, and Warrick looked around to make sure the others were safe. To his surprise, he saw Ecklie's team with them also. He looked at Grissom questioningly, but Grissom didn't comment, and they set off down the hall, hearts beating painfully as one.

The air was thick with smoke, but the masks sufficiently held this off, and their eyes were all set on one door. The storage room was at the very end of the hall, and Warrick didn't have a single doubt that Greg would be inside. He only prayed that his friend was still alive.

The door was open in a matter of seconds, but they all stood, staring at the room, eyes wide. It was an ordinary cleaning supplies room, full of the ordinary things: mops, brooms, bleach and soap. It was also empty of people.


	29. Chapter 29

**Haha... yes, I have not updated this in a long time, nor read this since last summer, nor edited it at all... so yeah... I'm just putting this up so that people can know what happens at the end, but erm... yeah, don't expect anything else coming for a while... ;) sorry guys! Thank you for sticking with this story though! **

**Chapter 39**

Greg didn't know what awoke him. His lungs were screaming for smoke-free air, and the burn on his arms had become a dull throb, weakened by the effect the bleach fumes were having on his mind. He knew that the fumes could be fatal, and his mind grew fuzzy at the thought.

His ears, however, picked up a faint sound of shouting outside. Heart rate spiking, he tried to yell. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. The smoke had not been easy on his lungs, and he began to cough violently.

He was coughing so hard that he was not even aware when the door opened until whoever it was yelled. Still hacking, he looked up and saw Ecklie standing over him, dirtied suit, horrified expression and all.

* * *

"Grissom!"

Grissom turned at the sound of his name and saw Ecklie standing a ways down the hall. "I got him!" Ecklie yelled.

It was a tone that Grissom thought he'd never hear from Ecklie's mouth.

He hurried down the hall to where the man was standing, but never got to look into the room Ecklie stood before, for the medics held him back and lifted a figure from the floor and hurried him out of the building.

"Is he alive?" Grissom demanded of Ecklie.

Ecklie nodded, his expression just as worried as anyone else. "Your killer put him in a different room,"

By now, the rest of the team had caught up with them and were all standing in the hallway, watching the medics leave. Before anyone could respond to Ecklie, however, the firemen hustled them out of the building, and Brass hailed them as they walked out. "My guys detained Alice Adams while you were inside," he said. "She was coming out the backdoor shortly after the bomb went off," Brass told him.

Grissom turned to him. "Where is she?" he asked with a harsh growl.

Brass looked at him, surprised. "Is Greg okay?"

"Yeah, Ecklie found him and the medics got him out," Grissom replied. "Where is she?"

"Ecklie?" Brass asked, expression somewhat incredulous.

Grissom nodded. "Where is Adams?"

Brass shook his head. "I can't let any of you see her right now. I almost killed her myself when I heard; I can't imagine what you would do. She's in custody right now, we can talk to her once this calms down."

Grissom nodded, somewhat disappointed before turning back to thank Ecklie. Ecklie had walked away with day shift, however, and Grissom decided quietly that Ecklie deserved more than a quick 'thank you'.

* * *

Nick and Warrick were the two people who visited Greg the most. The whole team was immensely relieved when they said Greg would survive but Nick almost never went a day without stopping by the hospital to look in on him.

It had been almost a month since Greg was rescued and rushed to the hospital. The building hadn't been harmed very much; Greg was in worse shape than the building itself. The bomb had gone off in an unused storage room, but the office beneath had caught on fire. Luckily, the fire didn't spread fast enough to cause any real damage to the rest of the building. The smoke had though, and Greg was declared in critical condition when he got to the hospital.

To everyone's relief, though, they'd patched him up, and he was up and about the hospital in little time. However, nobody had told Greg about any of the outcomes of the case, and Nick knew for a fact that Greg was ready to explode with curiosity. When he'd mentioned this to Grissom and the team though, the job fell to him.

"So what happened?" Greg asked eagerly when Nick walked in with Warrick.

Nick grinned at him. "We'll tell you," he said. "Eat your food," he motioned to the plate of hospital food that lay across his knees.

Greg made a face. "I'm sick of hospital food," he whined. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing much," Warrick answered. "Alice Adams got a life sentence in jail."

"And?" Greg prompted.

Warrick and Nick both shrugged. "There's not much more to tell. That's all that really happened. The trial was quick, painless is debatable, but everyone agreed she was guilty, mainly because she pretty much boasted the fact in the court room," Nick replied.

"That's it?" Greg asked. There was a pause. "Does she know I'm still alive?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, we kind of quoted your statement," he said.

Greg was silent for a while. "When… when I was with her, she said everything was directed at Grissom, not me. How did he react?"

Nick shrugged again, but it was Warrick who answered. "The old Grissom way. He didn't seem too surprised, actually."

"What did she tell the court?" Greg asked curiously.

Nick thought for a moment. "Well, she pretty much said that she was proud of what she did and she didn't regret it. She didn't give us any big explanations really. It was all pretty simple, but she was watching Grissom the whole time."

There was another long pause, and Greg didn't touch his food. "So it's all over," he said finally.

It was a statement, not a question. Nick and Warrick did nothing but nod. It had been a long struggle, the typical epic battle exclusive to movies, except this time it was a battle of wills: Gil Grissom vs. Alice Adams while Greg and the others had gotten caught somewhere in the middle of this unseen struggle.

Nick knew that words couldn't justly describe what they were feeling at the moment. The team was triumphant, and Nick knew that triumph came with a bitter aftertaste. After all the fuss had passed, there would doubtless be more trouble to come. At the moment, however, the team tasted its initial sweet flavor and was content. After all, triumph was dangerous in the hands of someone like Alice Adams.


End file.
